What Divides Us
by Thesuncomesaftertherain
Summary: AU- After a war generations ago, a class system was set up by the fearful people. Does one girl, safe with her books and daydreams, have the strength to open her eyes and see that these Lowers are humans too? To speak up for what is right?(Multipairing.) Updated once a week
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Hetalia.**

**NOTE-This isn't set post ww2 or ww1. It's in the future..or just an alternate world...I don't know. No specific time.  
**

**What Divides Us.**

It was what they didn't seem to notice that comforted me the most. Like the fresh sound of the turning pages, the smell wafting off the movement; the scent of old ink was a pretty distinct sent, but there are also other beautiful smells that I could feel, rather than name. Inspiration, knowledge, and an enveloping sense of comfort always seemed to sing to me from the pages I held in my hands, all sewn together between the sturdy covers of the book. It's partially for these reasons that books appealed to me so much. That and the fact that books could always be counted on to tell me the story and keep me excellent company without mistaking me for my brother, forgetting my existence, or otherwise harassing me.

Honestly, that's probably the main reason as to why I preferred books, animals and plants to people. They appreciate you, in their own ways, and you can appreciate them- _without_ feeling like the grime on your shoes in the process. I never really understood people, which probably didn't help the fact that they didn't understand me. They always rushed around, talked a lot and went about life in a mad rush, overlooking the smaller, important things and focusing far too much on their short lives to properly understand the big picture. I will admit I was always pretty easy going (easy goingly lazy, one might say)- but that's just because that way, I felt like I was really breathing, as opposed to just living.

On one particular balmy summer day, I had gone to a place where books reign monarch. The book sat more or less forgotten in my hands as my eyes darted around the vast, vacant room. I doubted that there was anyone in there except for the pretty young librarian, idly reading at the other end of the modest library. Sometimes my mother would come with me, if she was in a good enough mood and the day's work had been completed. Then she'd tell me stories her own mother had told her, about how cherished this library was when it was first built. It had been the second library built in the community after the end of the War. People had protested bitterly for more access to books, because so many books had been destroyed during the War to get hinder people's access to information. The first library built became a historic site and a regular tourist trap.

Alfred, my twin brother, was never really one for reading. He was always far too noisy and active; not really one for quiet contemplation. Alice-my mother -used to love reading. She didn't read so much anymore- and while she claimed it was because of work, I knew it was also the memories. She had actually met my papa here, in this library; they both loved books. Now books are just a constant reminder of his memory for her, and as a woman not too fond of sentiment, she avoided memories in an attempt to focus on the matters at hand. For me, I liked to think of my papa whenever I could. We were very close, and I liked to think that his memory was meant to make me stronger, not weaker.

_Papa_. I closed my violet eyes and leaned into the bookshelf I was sitting by, nestled in a hidden corner near a small window. He used to talk with me a lot about the culture and the arts; but also the community, the people, the way things are. As a Planter family (our occupation and thus last name), my family and I were often on the lavish estates of the Elite class, planting trees and vegetation in their scenic gardens. Papa was very social (I think that's where Alfred got it from; Alice and I were fairly reserved and quiet compared to them), so with his family being the only people in close proximity, he would naturally chat the days away with us. He would talk to me in particular, probably because I was the best listener.

Papa would talk to me a lot about the class system. He never really expressed his personal opinions (because people, often governments in particular, hate change almost as much as they hate what is different, and if anyone thought he was against one of the most steadfast social rules in the region, he would be in great trouble) but he certainly always gave me much to think about.

Papa explained it to me this way: after the War, the people were as fearful of each other almost as much as they feared themselves. As this fear circulated, a small portion of people grew immensely in wealth and power. These people were eventually referred to as the "Elite"; the highest ranking in social class, living it up on the outskirts of towns in lavish estates. The majority of people made ends meet; no more, no less. These people became known as the "Average", and lived as the hardworking middle class, living in crowed communities in small houses or relatively comfortable apartments. A third portion of the people-more people than the Elite, but still not so much as the Average- could not make ends meet, and were forced to make do with slums and the scorn of the Average and Elite. These people were the "Lowers", and were either avoided like plague or scorned as disease. Many lived on the same streets as the Average, but found their beds on the street or horribly cramped buildings as opposed to comfortable homes. There were no laws in place to outwardly discriminate Lowers or empower the Elite; but it was darkly humorous how obvious it was that the system was not set up for anyone of Lower class.

I mused silently to myself, gangly legs hunched up, arms propped on top of them. As a child over the age of 10 (I was 15 at that point) I was expected to help my family with our occupation when I was not in school classes. Being in a Planter family meant I spent most days among the plant life, hours from my home in a busy Average street. But in the summer, my family would go to work in the afternoon, so I had the mornings to myself. Unfortunately, that was the story for most kids my age.

"Hey, look! It's that kid! Get him!" I didn't even hear the words, so caught up in my thoughts was I. As one of the quietest people in all the community, people rarely noticed or talked to me (except for Papa, when he was alive) so I kept to myself a lot, in the company of my thoughts, tuning the confusing world around me out. The icy shock of being kicked hard in legs (since they were hunched up and covering my stomach, or else I'm sure my stomach would have been a victim) was a jagged vindictive icicle, sliding down my bare back, sending a chilled fire through my blood as it went. Violet eyes wide open, I saw a small crowd of boys my brother knew surrounded me.

It didn't take me long to understand the situation. My brother was my twin, and while we were not exactly identical, the resemblance was still palpable. Because I was so quiet, people rarely noticed me; and when they did, they generally mistook me for my brother. Now, Alfred could be a little…oblivious. He could also be counted on to start a fight or two. He was well meaning and good at heart, but he had a bad habit of messing up-and then leaving me with the broken glass.

"Guys," I protested, although it was more of a whisper. I didn't really have much of a voice, and when I spoke, my voice wafted and got lost in the background buzz. I got up slowly to my feet to face Alfred's music. A tall creepy boy whose name I couldn't quite remember but always wore a scarf even in then humid death of summer, Arthur, who was a cousin of Alfred and I- and had eyebrows that could pass as caterpillars-loomed over me. I groaned inwardly. Could these guys seriously not open their eyes and see who I was? Not that I wanted Alfred to face this-although he did always prat on about being some hero, and constantly taking advantage of our similar looks and leading his "friends" to me wasn't exactly heroic, now was it?! Not that I was bitter, oh, no. People just paid more attention to Alfred, praised him more, appreciated him more, and all I got lumped with was his enemies. Oh, I was just _perfectly _fine with that.

"Listen here! I'm sick of you always interfering with me and being so incredibly annoying! And you better stop calling me out on my eyebrows, or I'll make sure you can't call out at all!" Arthur spat the words out furiously. I doubted it would be the best course of action to point out that he wasn't exactly being the antonym of "interfering" and "annoying" and that the person he was yelling at had in fact never once vocally insulted his distinguishable facial features. He probably wouldn't hear me anyways.

"Yes. You _are_ rather nosy and interfering, little Alfred." The other boy's expression was a childish smile, but the crushing threat and intimidation emitted from him and clung to his words like smoke to a fire. I knew this kid well enough to know that I should probably run far away from him; but I didn't. I knew I was probably in serious danger, and that the librarian was too caught up into her book to notice and intervene, but my feet stood rooted to the chilled floors. If I fled, they would only grow angrier and catch me; or worse, grow livid and run into the actual object of their ire once I slipped away. As silently resentful as I was, I loved my brother and didn't want him in any more danger then he already put himself in, what with all his wild antics and schemes. Plus, if they realized they had the wrong person, maybe they would have the decency to feel shame and drop the whole thing-for now. I knew Arthur probably would do that if he realized, although I wasn't sure about the other boy.

"Have you got him?" This new voice was painfully familiar. Carlos. One of my only friends-at least, one of the only people outside my family that talked to me. He could stand Alfred about as much as an ant could refuse sugar, and I knew he had tried to give him a black eye more than once. But I knew black eyes would not be as excruciatingly painful as a betrayal from who was probably my only friend would be.

"Carlos, it's me!" I cried out in as loud a volume as I could muster. "Maddie! Madeline Planter! You're _friend_!"

"Friend, huh?" Carlos came into view, his tan skin slightly red with the malice he felt for my brother. "Yeah right, Alfred! I tolerate your sister, I guess, but I humor her more than anything, seeing as she's related to a jerk like you! And I'm not just saying that, either. Seriously, your sister is about as boring as you're annoying. But her biggest flaw is being related to _you._"

I felt my heart drop to the soles of my frozen feet. No, further. Down into the sewers below, down to the dirt and grime that I abruptly wanted to run and hide in. Of course. How could I of been so silly to expect so much? To have someone not bound to me by blood not only notice me, but also to not mistake me for my brother, consider me over sensitive and boring, but also not tarred with the same brush as my twin? How could I of ever expected a friendship with Carlos; with anyone? As I said before, I didn't understand people and they didn't understand me. How stupid of me to forget that. And it was silly of me to feel betrayed and grieved. I should be happy. I knew what Carlos really thought of me-what everyone probably thought of me. But why would he of led me on like that? If he thought I was boring, why couldn't he just say so?

I prepared to duck the punch that came at me, eyes bravely open; after all, I felt only numbness, not fear. Yet just as thin skin and sharp knuckles came at my pale face, so close I could smell the sweat on it, the weapon whizzed away. I froze just as the others did, and bit my lip as the forth boy came to view.

"Hey guys! Why are you all herding around here?"

"Alfred!" Arthur looked shocked, and then a little shame faced when he realized the mistake. "Oh, sorry Madeline." At least he remembered my name.

"Why didn't you say it was you?" Carlos spluttered, realization dawning on his face like snow melting off of the trees. I didn't have time to think or say anything before Alfred, not reading the situation as usual, began towing the guys away. I couldn't quite hear what he was saying, but I did hear the creepy boy with the scarf say something as they left.

"That's an offer I'm not about to refuse. Let us go see what you're talking about."

And then they were gone. Not even Carlos stayed to so much as apologize. I was completely forgotten.

I stared after them, trying very hard not to think. I watched them leave, just to make sure they weren't going to try and beat my brother up. After I decided things looked safe enough, and they were walking away as though nothing had happened, I silently crouched down, picked up the book I had been pretending to read earlier, put it back into the simple bookshelf and left the library.

My thoughts seemed to swirl around in my mind once the warm, humid air and the distant chatter of the people hit me. What was I, just some filler character? A prop you can toss around and then abandon once the actors got a better offer? Was I really worth so little? I shook my head in an attempt to expel my raging thoughts, far louder than anything I could cry out vocally. _No, don't be mad. Anger will not help. Be happy Al's okay, that his better offer was enough to appease the others for now. Be happy that I now know what Carlos really thinks of me. _I tried very hard to focus on these positive thoughts, but the wounds were still bleeding.

Was there anyone who could understand me, in this world of people whom I could hardly talk to, who hardly wanted to talk to me, for no other crime then the blood I share with my twin and that the fact that I lacked some knack the others had to fit in? I sighed, walking quickly down the noisy road, the smells of foods wafting around my body as small children rushed past my thin legs. It was almost lunchtime. A smile threatened to grace my face. Maybe if I was lucky, Alice would make pancakes with extra maple syrup; my favorite food! I straightened my old, worn red skirt and white cotton blouse before heading for home. Leaving the busy market streets, old worn buildings and the dirt of the over populated streets behind me, I headed for the smaller side streets.

It was as I was walking on the cracked sidewalk, away from the busy section of the community, observing the bright, balmy summer sun that watched over us that I heard it. A small cry, like the coo of a dove or the squeak of a mouse. Instinctively, I turned sharply on my heel towards the cause of the noise. Time seemed to slow, as though Time itself needed to watch the scene with more clarity and thus slowed itself down. A young man was traveling briskly down the lane on his bike; unbeknownst to him, a small child was playing unsupervised in the street directly in front of him. I was too far away to rescue the child from getting crushed; but I ran anyways, only to trip on the badly cracked old sidewalk.

When I lifted my head up, not feeling any pain but the gut wrenching fear for the small child, I did nothing; because I saw nothing. The man on the bike was shouting something, but didn't stop. He continued on past me, looking irritated. I staggered up and hurried over in confusion to where the child had been. For a moment I stood bewildered in the middle of the road, looking around myself, mystified. Surely I had not imagined…?

"The kid's okay." I whirled to my right to see a figure sitting on the curb, the child walking cheerfully on his merry way away from him.

"You got the child out of the way?" I asked quietly, still gazing at the young one and suddenly bursting with relief. When I got a reply, I froze in shock; I wasn't expecting to be heard.

"Yeah, the awesome me swooped in and got the kid out of the way. You can go do whatever it is you were doing." I turned my gaze to the child's savior and froze in surprise. Most people would of thought an Average would of rescued the kid, even at the risk of being run over by a man speeding on his bike. Instead, it was one of the rattiest Lowers I had ever seen, looking boldly at me with eyes the colour of bleeding rubies and hair wilder and whiter than the fiercest blizzard. His clothes looked old and worn; even older and more worn out than mine, and mine were hand-me-downs from my grandmother. He gave a bitter snort when I looked at him, although I didn't think I was looking too oddly at him.

"That was kind of you," I murmured, stepping away. "T-thank you." It somehow occurred to me that he looked almost handsome…no, I couldn't be thinking like that about a Lower. I averted my gaze and started to hurry off. I, as all citizens in that region, especially that community, had been taught to avoid the Lowers at all costs. They were thieves, liars, and brutes; and for some reason or another they all deserved to live the way that they did. A baby born to Lower parents was automatically considered a Lower, and instantly devalued, regardless of the fact that their only obvious flaw so far was their birth.

This was ingrained in our minds. They were not like the rest of us. They were like the grime they lived in; even though, if you washed one up and took the time to give a Lower an education, they could pass as an Average or even Elite. But of course we weren't supposed to think like that. Averages and Elites did not mingle with the Lowers. It simply wasn't acceptable. According to the police who found my father's body rotting in the gutter, all those years ago, it was a Lower who had mugged and killed him. No one asked for witnesses; we all just believed it.

But…was there something wrong with thinking that way? I shook my head in a feeble attempt to expel the thought. I had never really scorned the Lowers before; nor had I stood up for them. Yet the gears in my brain suddenly began to race, and my feet fastened themselves to the earth beneath my feet as a single thought blew past all that I had been taught by society.

_"__Her biggest flaw is being related to _you_."_ I was not a foot away from the Lower when the memory of what had happened to me earlier roared again into my ears. How could my biggest flaw be something I could not control? Carlos had mentioned my flaw of being boring; yet he scorned my blood above all. I could not help who I shared my blood with; and as annoying as my twin could be, I wouldn't want to be anyone else's daughter than that of my papa and mother- wouldn't want to be anyone's sister but Alfred's.

A Lower child was devalued at birth, sentenced the day they were born to a life of scorn and ridicule. I was scorned for being born with a certain family and quiet vocal chords.

Was this…a _connection_?

And how could all Lowers be hateful scum, if the rattiest looking Lower I had ever seen had just pretty much risked his life to save a small child in need, a child who was probably nothing to him? He didn't look like he was going to be telling the story to anyone, or receive praise. Could he of done it for the same reasons I would of; out of decency? If that was the case, then how could this Lower be completely worthless, fit only to be belittled?

I froze in my steps as the thoughts began to overwhelm me. The Lower misunderstood my actions. "You can go," he snapped. "The awesome me will not eat, stalk or murder you." His voice had an odd accent, and I couldn't stop the question that bubbled to my thin pale lips.

"Where are you from?" I asked, turning around. Instantly I flushed; curiosity got the cat. But he actually heard me and answered, looking almost…bored. Not malicious or dangerous. Just bored. I felt myself relax a little.

"I'm not a vampire, silly girl. Some people have red eyes and white hair." I flushed darker at his misunderstanding. The thought that he was anything but human had never even crossed my mind…yes, the Lowers were certainly treated as though they were beneath the rest of society, but the society still thought of them as humans…right? Or were they thought of as even lower than that? I wasn't even sure, and I had grown up in that community. But had I ever thought of them as less than human? The fact that I did not know unsettled me.

"No, that's not what I meant. Y-your accent sounds different, eh?" A series of expressions flitted rapidly across his pale, dirtied face. I understood some of them. Anger, confusion and regret were the most prominent. Yet for a moment I recognized something in those ruby orbs. It was the same look that my mother, Alfred and I had had at Papa's funeral; a look of dulled horror, an expression of grief.

For a moment, his eyes told a story of death. Something or someone had _died_.

Then he hid it again with an arrogant looking grin. "You would never of heard of the place. It's a place long gone. At least, you all think it is. For me, it still lives. My homeland is far too awesome to die." I wondered if he realized that I could see that flicker of pain in his eyes. Whatever place he was talking about, it had obviously meant a great deal to him.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I knew what loss felt like. The fact that this was something this man and I, a Lower and an Average-two people entire classes apart- had in common surprised me slightly.

"Why would you be? You're a high and mighty Average, and as far as your concerned, I'm a Lower. Personally I think it sucks and is absolute crap; but that's how _you_ all think. Shouldn't you be running off or telling the others I attacked that child or something stupid like that?"

"But you didn't," I whispered. "You saved his life."

The man's arrogant –yet somehow slightly broken- expression grew slightly. "That's because it was the awesome thing to do, and I am awesome."

"Yeah, it _was_ the awesome thing to do," I whispered to myself, and fleetingly wondered if most people would of done the same as he did, in risking his life to ensure the safety of a stranger, even if the stranger was a child. I thought for a moment, caught up in my thoughts, before it struck me that I had never heard someone use the word "awesome" so much in a conversation before; nor had I heard a Lower speak so highly of themselves (although conversing with Lowers wasn't exactly a hobby of mine; in fact, that was the first conversation I had ever held with a Lower). "How old are you?" I blurted. He looked like someone who had seen a lot…yet his devil-may-care attitude was comparable to my brother.

He stared at me for a moment, expression enigmatic. I wondered fleetingly what he was thinking. The fact that an Average talking casually to a Lower would be greatly looked down upon wasn't a pleasant feeling, but the truth remained that I found this boy was a tad more interesting to talk to then Arthur (as much as I cared for my cousin) or Carlos (who didn't even like me anyways). Plus, he was actually responding; and he wasn't ignoring me or mistaking me for anyone.

"I'm 16. I'm 17 in a week." I stared at him. That wasn't much older than me. Was he alone on these streets? Did he have a family thinking of him somewhere? His eyes looked distant for a moment before focusing back on me. I had a feeling he was having fun trying to intimidate me with those scarlet eyes, trying to see how long it would take to scare me away; but until I understood what was urging me on to talk to him in the first place, I wasn't going anywhere. It was going to take a bit more then striking eyes to scare me away.

For a moment we milked in the silence. He continued to sit on the curb, looking at me with an undecipherable expression, and I stood by him, my lunch forgotten. I thought of what lured me over in the first place. "What made you save the boy?" I whispered. Then I flushed. "Sorry. I shouldn't ask so many questions. It's rude." Alice had always commented that Alfred and I had more than the looks in common; we were both unquenchably curious. It was true that the majority of the time I spoke, it was always asking questions. People weren't usually interested in carrying casual conversation with me, anyways.

Silence again. Then he looked at me. "I _might_ answer that question if you answer mine. Why are you even talking to me? I know I'm awesome…but your kind- that cracked up society of snotty Elites and Averages- certainly doesn't. Why haven't _you_ left?"

I thought deeply. Maybe it was because I myself felt like an outsider. I never understood those around me; yes, I could read expressions and sense the atmosphere (better than Al, anyways), but motives and reasons for actions never really registered with me. Why did people hate the Lowers? Why did the Elite get all the power? Why did we even have that War all those years ago in the first place? Was there more to it than just some nation blowing something up?

So if I was an outsider, quietly observing in an effort to understand, then maybe the Lowers- scorned by the rest of society for reasons even I wasn't entirely sure- were worth trying to understand? It was darkly humorous how a Lower seemed more interesting to talk to then any Average or Elite that I had ever met (other than my family). He was actually treating me with more respect than Arthur or Carlos-and I had a feeling he wasn't doing it for the sake of sucking up to someone of higher class. Plus, I had already established a connection with this lower. We had both experienced loss, and were both blamed for things we could not control.

As these thoughts swarmed my head, I forgot about the world around me, caught up in all these questions that only served to bring on a new plethora of questions. I wasn't sure how much time had passed before a shout yanked me out of my uncertainty and dumped me back into reality.

"Quick, Maddie, run away! Leave my sister alone, you freak!" Muttering some very colorful language under his breath, this mysterious Lower glared over at where the boy was rushing over with an expression that promised malice. Alfred, my brother.

"You can run off now," he muttered to me. But I didn't move. Quietly I drifted over to the side, once again the outsider looking in. Was Alfred really concerned for my safety, or was he just reaching for excuses to mess with the Lowers?

"Freak! What were you talking to her about, huh?" Alfred's bright blue eyes resembled stormy oceans as he towered proudly over the Lower. Slowly the white haired boy got up off the curb, and while his frame seemed smaller than Alfred's, I felt sure that this was a person who could easily protect himself in a fight.

"I was teaching her how to act like a terrorist," he replied dryly. This didn't appease my brother, whose glare tightened.

"I'll teach you to treat members of higher classes with more _respect,"_ my brother snarled. I felt my blood run cold. I couldn't let a brawl let loose; but what could I do? Out of all of them, the only one that ever really listened to me was the Lower himself.

"Why would I do that? The only reason your strutting around like you own this place is because you were born into it. You didn't earn middle class, and I know my brother sure didn't earn lower class. "

I shook my head, as though I could stop this rapidly escalating situation through telekinesis, but not even the Lower acknowledged me. They were interacting amongst themselves.

"Your brother, huh? Probably some low life scum like you." If words were weapons, then they were pulling out the big guns at that point. I bit my lip. Alfred was a good person at heart, he really was; but of course this Lower couldn't know that. A bystander wouldn't know that. Because from where I stood, quietly watching, he wasn't Alfred. He was just an Average picking a fight with some Lower. I doubted he even realized just what he were fighting against. It wasn't one person. He was just helping a messed up social system, one that had grown from fear and mistrust and a need of control, one that…I bit my lip, not wanting to think it.

Papa had been killed by a Lower. But what if he hadn't? Any Average or Elite could have committed the grisly act, then blamed it on some member of the lowly lower class. The police would probably prefer it that way. That way, we could all just close our eyes to the division, could just put the blame somewhere else. But was that fair for people like Papa, who had gotten caught in the crossfire? If it _had_ been a Lower who killed him, did the Lower do it because they wanted to have an innocent man's blood on their hands? Or was it out of desperation for a needy family they couldn't provide for any other way?

The Lower I had talked to had a _story._ He had white hair and red eyes, had felt loss, was torn away from his homeland and had a brother whom he felt did not deserve the life of the Lower class. He was victimized by the system, yet had still afforded me the kindness no one else would. He had listened to me. And I had listened to him. But most importantly, we were both victims of circumstance. We were a Lower and an Average, but we could still relate to each other. Above all, he had rescued a child; a child that the Average man on his bike didn't even check on. This Lower didn't deserve being treated like the dirt on the sidewalk; and if he didn't, then I doubted any Lower did.

I had enough of playing outsider. It was time I spoke up for once. "Alfred, no! You don't realize what you're doing, stop!" I froze when I heard a voice cry out the words I had just been about to say. Who…oh. My fingers ghosted over my lips in surprise. The loud, brave shout had come from none other but myself. For the first time in a long time I had managed to speak clearly and loudly, not in the seemingly meek whisper I was forever associated with. I darted over to my brother and clutched the hand he had been about to throw a punch with tightly. "Please don't. He's a person, not a class or a title. You can't just be born with something like that. Al, you always say that you're a hero; be one. Beat the system. Can't you see that this isn't…it's not…" I breathed in deeply, trying desperately to ignore the eyes on me as they burned into my skin and blood. "I don't really know him. But he just saved a child's life a few moments ago, so what does that tell you? He wasn't expecting anything for it."

They all looked at me with unfathomable expressions. I felt the warmth of my brother's flesh through his jacket sleeve and held tightly onto it, as though it were a life preserver. Finally Alfred spoke up, glaring defiantly at the Lower in front of him. "Is that true?"

"I'm not sure I'd go that far," he muttered roughly in reply.

The silence was tangible. I closed my eyes for a moment, before I felt my hand moving down; Alfred was lowering his arm. "That was a good thing, then. A heroic thing. I can't punch you for that." He stepped away, and I released a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. "Come on, Maddie. Let's go." He made to leave, but I didn't start walking just yet.

"I want to ask him something. I'll catch up." My brother frowned at me protectively before backing up a few feet. The Lower grumbled to himself at Alfred's slight retreat before facing me.

"I could have handled that fight."

"It wasn't worth it. And…you never answered my question. Why did you help that child?"

The silence enveloped us again, but it was more comfortable this time. My chestnut hair scratched my neck in the shine of the risen sun, tightly held in its braid and I scratched at it idly. "My brother," the Lower admitted finally. "He was...awesome. Almost as awesome as me…no. Just as awesome. Maybe _more_ awesome. And he had bright blond hair and bright blue eyes just like that kid had. He was around the same age, too, when he died." I felt my heart plummet at the words, and felt genuine grief for the tragedy. I could see the pain in those ruby eyes that he tried to hide, and I suddenly wanted to give this Lower a hug. But I didn't, because I knew that wasn't what he neither needed nor wanted.

"What happened?" I whispered softly. The humorless laugh rasped in the humid air from his lips.

"He got sick and I'm no doctor. That's what happened. I don't expect anyone to cry for me; I don't need no pity or anything stupid like that." His fists clenched and he had to look away, anger seeping into his vivid eyes. "But my brother…he was just a kid. He never asked for this class crap, never did anything to deserve it. And he's dead because of it. He died for no reason, no good reason at all. And no matter how hard I fought; those…_people_ at that hospital just wouldn't look past the class we were thrust into, claimed it was because I had no money, and left him to die. And I know that if it had been an Average or Elite unable to pay the bills, then they would have done something."

I stared at the ground, eyes wide in shock and horror. It was as though a bucket of cold water had been tossed at me, and I could feel the cold drip of realization seep into my very core. I was immersed in the frosty insight of how twisted that story was; yet also of how abundant stories like that were. I didn't know what to say, and I suddenly felt light headed. If something like that had happened to me, I knew my parents would be heartbroken. I thought of my Papa. What would he of thought of that? My heart suddenly felt full and content when I realized he wouldn't have wanted that fate for the child; so maybe my Papa would be proud of me now? That thought broke away the last of my qualms and I spoke to the Lower with fresh confidence.

"I…I would say I'm sorry but…I know that won't help," I whispered after a moment. "But I _am_ sorry. I'm sorry things are set up like this and I'm sorry it never dawned onto me until now. And I promise I won't let your brother's death be in vain…I'm not going to just sit on the sidelines anymore."

He nodded firmly at me. "I'm not letting it go in vain either."

I smiled at him, suddenly feeling shy again. "I'm sure I'll see you again. I'm not going to hide behind stupid division lines anymore." I turned around, gave a small wave, and made to join my brother. Just as Alfred was about to say something to me-probably interrogate me relentlessly-I realized I had forgotten an immeasurably important detail. I instantly whipped around and ran back to the white haired red eyed male who was watching me with an unreadable expression.

"Wait!" I cried out. "I forgot something. Forgive me."

"What?"

I took in a deep breath. "I can't just refer to you as "Lower". Because you're _not_ lower. What's your name?"

He laughed, this time a real laugh from his core. "Wow, I don't think anyone's ever asked me that before." He looked thoughtful for a moment, as though he were trying to remember. "I am known as Gilbert."

"Gilbert," I murmured softly, flushing as my brain noted that he really _was_ attractive. And brave. And the most interesting person I had talked to all summer; the most interesting person I had talked to in a long while. "Well, Gilbert, I am Maddie. Maddie Planter. And it's a pleasure to meet you."

**Well hello! A HUGE THANKS to everyone who has faved/reviewed/read my other stories! YOU ARE ALL SO AWESOME! It's been a while since I have posted-I've been writing up an AU multi fic that should be done and ready to reveal in a month or two. But we had to write short stories in class, so I figured I'd take the opportunity to write an AU of my favorite anime! I changed the names for it and stuff, but this is pretty much what my brain came up with. I really hope you like it! Opinions welcomed! **

**UPDATE: Thanks to The Thief of Pies for your review and fav, and a big thanks to 3** **for your fav! I have decided to continue this story! I have some ideas of where I want it to go, and want to start updating as soon as possible. But if you guys have any ideas, let me know! To make sure my updates are consistent, I'm going to write up a few chapters and begin posting a chapter a week on June 20th. See you all then! **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

For the five minutes it took for the two of us to reach our home, I was contemplating what had turned the world on its axis. My viewpoints on the world itself had just totally shifted, I had just more or less yelled at my brother, and said brother wasn't uttering a word.

Alfred-as I mentioned earlier- was pretty chatty. Quite frankly, he didn't know when to shut up. So for him to have just seen what he had just witnessed and to then actually keep his trap shut was rather…disconcerting. And by disconcerting, I mean that I was beginning to fear alien invasion. Honestly, that entire day had just been so…_off_. My mother had always said that I was too sensitive for my own good; the queasy unease I felt churning in my stomach as I walked home that day was surefire proof of that. Yet I knew deep in my heart that I in no way shape or form regretted what I had done; and while I was unsure of any consequences I might face and what I would meet on this path I had stumbled upon, I knew that I wouldn't of been able to sleep that night had I left without knowing who had rescued that child; or had I abandoned him to Alfred's fists.

I felt my stomach grumble in protest just as my feet hit the muddy path up to our door. My family was quite lucky to live in a house as opposed to an apartment. The economy was still recovering from the War that had ravaged to globe three generations ago, and many people-my family included-were feeling its effects. There was hardly enough food to gobble down, and luxuries like shopping for fun and taking recourses such as water for granted were a thing of the past. No one I knew had a car, except for those in the highest seats of the Elite class-it was shocking to think that, before the War, just about anyone could own a luxury such as a car. Imagine having all the oil at your fingertips!

My family probably would have had to live cooped up in a small apartment, sharing a room with another family, or living at the mercy of Elites on some lavish estate where we did the planting and gardening had it not been for my mother's quick wits. Years ago, after she had run away from her parents and married my Papa (against their wishes) and the two had been looking around desperately for a place to live, Alice had overheard one of the Elites she worked for complaining about his occupation as a landlord.

Apparently, one of the places he owned and wanted to rent out was a wreck that no one would rent; and he certainly didn't want to the lower the price, even if the poorer Averages would surly swipe up the deal with gusto. So quick-thinking Alice had suggested that instead of lowering the price, he allow her and her family to live there in exchange for her own wages and extra work. The idea appealed to the Landlord, who deemed my mother fit to help Papa with Planting and work as a maid in his estate. We have worked for his family ever since.

I was thinking of that story as Alfred pushed open the door and made his way inside. I trailed in behind him, kicking off my worn out shoes. I was going to have to cut out new soles for them; the bottoms I had pasted on the bottom of the shoes were getting holes again.

I drifted in and sat quietly at the old oak table, propping my head upon my bony elbow. I eyed Alfred with my amethyst eyes as he made a beeline to his room, avoiding eye contact with me as much as he could. I considered calling out to him, but I dropped the idea with the sharp slam of his door shutting, isolating him away from the world for a small while.

Alice wasn't home. I got up reluctantly and ambled over to the cupboards and tiny refrigerator in the corner of the kitchen to whip up something quick before she got home and attempted to make those dire excuses for scones again. Cooking had never really been my mother's forte. But anything beat Arthur's cooking.

…

I wasn't really sure what it was I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't what had ended up happening. Alice came home-and despite my fears that she would automatically know what I had done, as mothers often have a knack for doing, she had just nodded at me and proceeded to the kitchen to grab a freshly cooked pancake. Alfred's keen nose led him down to the food, as I figured it would; but instead of the eerie quiet from earlier, he was his exuberant self. If it hadn't been for the odd look in his eyes whenever his lively blue orbs would flicker at me, I might have been seriously wondering if it had all been some elaborate day dream.

"By the way," Alice began when we began to eat, "no work today. The landlord is having some sort of social even this evening and the set up will interfere with our planting, so he decided to just have us work tomorrow."

"So does that mean he wants us to set up for some party instead?" Alfred asked, forgetting to cover his mouth as he ate (again).

"No, Alfred. Shockingly. He claimed to have enough people to help out. We'll just have to get paid tomorrow." Silence ghosted over the three of us, as if to magnify the food on our plates and enunciate the sound of forks dashing against the small pancakes. No money for a day meant less food for tomorrow. I paused, fork in mid air, trying to calculate what that would mean for tomorrow's meal. We had some extra meat, and some broth. Stew for tomorrow, undoubtedly. We were lucky. We would be ok.

There was also a left over pancake. As it turned out, I had accidently cooked one too many, and after we had eaten our full, there was still that one brazen leftover. However, I wasn't sure if Alice or Alfred knew this. I had discovered the little pancake as I took our small dishes to the sink, still sitting proudly on the counter. It looked so small, so innocent; so deliciously wicked.

I formed the idea within seconds, the wheels of my mind whirring uncontrollably. Surely one little pancake wouldn't make such a difference for my family; yet make at least some difference for one who probably had little to no supper at all? We had eaten our share; this one, stubborn leftover would hardly make much difference, especially since we had enough to eat for today and tomorrow. I stood there for a minute after the seed of my plan formulated in my brain, giving it time to grow its roots.

After minute later, I was passing Alice in the kitchen, on my way to the front door. "Where are you going, Madeline?"

"Just for a walk, Mama. To get some fresh air."

Alice shrugged. "Don't wander off too far, and don't be out past dark." I smiled at her and slipped out the door, back into the balmy summer day. The birds chirped around me, and the sidewalks were still cracked; the same children were screaming merrily in the streets, and the far off distant noise of market day could still be appreciated from the small street on which I walked. Just another, completely average picture for the story of this neighborhood. Not even the tune of the birds' singing seemed off tune. The irony of how perfectly in schedule everything seemed almost brought a giggle to my lips.

The summer sun watching over us was lazy and would continue to watch over us for another few hours; I had plenty of time for my walk. No, I had not lied to Alice in that respect. I _was_ going on a walk, that much was true; I had merely neglected to inform her of my intended destination. I shivered in the calm sunlight, my guilt at stealing from my family sedated only from the fact that the burning seed of this guilt would do its intended received more good then it would for my family. I walked quickly down the street, hoping that the bearer of white hair and unforgettable blood red eyes wouldn't have wandered too far away.

The small pancake felt red red-hot in my pocket.

* * *

Gilbert was not where I had last seen him. I sighed, expecting as much. Where could he have gone? I looked self consciously around me, as though he would materialize in front of my eyes. No such luck. I sighed again, running my fingers absently over my worn out braid. As my fingers trembled down, the hair band wriggled free and fell down onto the faded pavement. I shook out my waves of burnt gold, shaking out the bends of the braid and allowing it to cascade down my back. Deciding on a firm bun this time, I knelt down onto the ground to pick up my hair elastic.

There were old, faded designs etched into the concrete that I could notice once I bent down and got close. These streets had been re built after the war, and someone had obviously decided to celebrate the end of the war in a rather creative way, taking advantage of the setting concrete. The date of the end of the war was scribbled in small letters by what I presumed had been a stick. The letters were small and faded, but still prominent. I found myself smiling before remembering why I had knelt down on the first place. That was right. Hair elast-

_WHAM!_

The hard force of a collision knocked the breath out of my lungs and the thoughts from my head. Quick, panicked snapshots of fragmented thoughts surrounded me. _Am I again mistaken for Alfred? Was the missing pancake discovered? Is some sort of punishment for talking to Gilbert? _The collision knocked me to the side, and my body reacted at first by huddling in the fetal position for a nano second. Then I stiffened ram rod straight and leapt to my feet, my ankle scratching against the unforgiving concrete.

I regained my focus as my senses regained control. Loud, somehow cheerful words came at me before images did. "Sorry, miss! I didn't see you there, bella! Are you alright? You won't call the police on me, would you? I promise I'm not a bad person, really! I rescued a cat from a tree last week! Well, I tried. Ludwig had to end up getting both me and the cat from the tree-"

I shook my head slowly as images sewed together. A young man perhaps 3 years my senior (but perhaps he was younger?) was sprawled across the sidewalk in front of me; obviously the cause of my collision. His hair shone red in the overhead sunlight, and his laughing lines framed a slightly tanned face. He spoke rather shrilly, and so quickly that had I not been so observant (and used to Alfred's causal babble) I almost certainly would have missed it. He was cut off, however, by another, masculine voice. One that seemed to express poorly veiled concern.

"Feliciano, are you all right? What did you manage to trip over?" Another young man hurried to his side, his expression unreadable. I recognized this second man; he was a hard working Average. He was about 20, and his father was dead. He carried on the family business, bookshop. All I knew aside from that common knowledge was that he was known for his inability to relax and his admirable work ethic. Blond hair glinted in the sunlight like a hundred glimmering diamond; his blue eyes lightly tinted sapphires. What was his name again? Lucy-no, that wasn't right. Edwin? Ludwin? Oh, that was right! This other young man had mentioned it: Ludwig.

"Oh, hello!" Another voice joined the fray. I glanced up from the pair to see a pretty young woman in a worn dress, whose long waves of brown hair hung freely down to her waist and whose green eyes seemed to sparkle as she looked down at Ludwig and Feliciano; as though enjoying some delicious secret that no one, not even those two, had discovered.

"Are you alright?" She asked worriedly as Ludwig helped Feliciano to his feet. I assumed the question was merely addressed to him and was about to slip away meekly-assured that Feliciano appeared to be fine- when she repeated her question. "Miss, are you hurt?" I was floored. Noticed twice in the same day! Who would have guessed?

"I'm fine thank you," I assured her quietly. Ludwig looked at me in slight surprise. I knew that look. It was the Oh!-Someone-is-right-there! look I got more times I day than I cared to recall. Feliciano grinned at me.

"Good to hear, bella!" He seemed to have some sort of accent. What was that accent? Italian?

"Sorry about that," Ludwig apologized. "He gets…er, carried away." He seemed uncomfortable, and I couldn't help the words that slipped treacherously through my mouth.

"Are you alright? You seem like something is wrong." Why, mouth? Why? I tried hard not to blush. Being unendingly curious was one thing; but being unable to stop the questions from coming was just so _embarrassing. _

"Oh, I'm fine," Ludwig assured me quickly. "It's just-I shouldn't be rude towards him." He looked even more uncomfortable. Like the words were foreign on his lips, or he didn't completely agree or understand them. From the way he acted with Feliciano, it looked like they were familiar with each other. Friends, maybe? Why was Ludwig so careful with his words?

"Feli is an Elite," the lady explained quietly. Ahh. That made more sense. The Elite-the rich and powerful- were shown utter respect by anyone of a lower class, regardless of circumstances. As the Lowers were automatically shunned, the Elite were automatically praised. There was little question of deservance. Class was everything, the only logic the society needed. Averages and Lowers could not show or even hint at disrespect; in turn, Elites didn't form personal relationships with Averages and Lowers. Of course, not knowing many Elites myself or being one, I didn't know all the social customs- but I _did_ know that it was odd to see a trio such as this; two Averages and Elites, acting like good friends. I nearly laughed. How ironic to think of how such interaction between Elites and Averages was socially _faux pas_, considering the afternoon I had had.

"He's new here, so I, as a new worker to his estate (I work in the stables, with horses), was asked to show him around. Ludwig here joined us," she continued more loudly. "I'm Elizabeta, nice to meet you!"

"Ve! I'm Feliciano, pleasure to meet you! I moved here last month from Italy. I met Eliza and Ludwig here when I first got here, so they're giving me the official tour!" I couldn't help but smile. From the way Feliciano chirped, one would never guess he was one of the sophisticated, better-than-the-rest- Elite. I got good vibes from these three.

"Ja, I'm Ludwig. Elizabeta here is my cousin. Nice to meet you," Ludwig added, finishing their introductions.

"It's nice to meet you all," I murmured, hoping they would hear my quiet voice. "My name is Madeline Planter."

"Well, we should be going," Elizabeta announced reluctantly. "I hope to see you soon! Bye!"

"Sorry again!" Crowed Feliciano. And then they were gone, swallowed up by the dawning evening. Yet something told me that this had not just been some fluke meeting. No, just as I had been meant to meet Gilbert this day, I had also been meant to meet these three. I could _feel_ it. It was like the ghost of the Future was breathing down my back; eerie, but unmistakable.

I ambled on, the pancake once again burning a hole in my old worn pocket. I didn't have much farther to go. After passing another corner, I caught a glimpse of unmistakable snow in the middle of a sunny afternoon. Gilbert.

He was sitting on the curb, staring at something. As I got closer, I could see that it was newspaper. Absently, I wondered where Gilbert had learned to read. I hadn't thought too much of it before, but it was true that not many Lower kids went to school. Perhaps his parents or a friend had taught him; perhaps he had braved through school and learned it there. But as I got closer, I could see that he wasn't really reading; just staring at the pages, expression unfathomable.

"Hey," I greeted. This time, I did not whisper; the power in my voice came back as I talked to Gilbert.

He looked up at me before getting to his feet. "Well, if it isn't Maddie! Back so soon? I thought I'd see you tomorrow." I felt a flush creep back for some reason as his red eyes looked straight into my own amethyst orbs, and looked quickly down. The traitorous blush did not go away.

"Um, yeah. Well, I wanted to give you something." I fished through my pocket and pulled out a cloth covered-

" Pancake?" For a moment, he looked a little confused. And then angry. He glared at me, trying to scare me off again. And, again, it didn't work. Those violent scarlet eyes _should _have frightened me…but they did not. It was odd; had anyone else glared at me like that, I probably would have withered and abandoned the situation, escaping one way or another. But I didn't feel like that with Gilbert. I felt like his _equal. _He could not scare me away.

"I don't need your _charity,"_ he spat at me furiously. _Charity_. He spat it out like a taboo concept. I quickly realized my mistake, and this time the flush began to flood my cheeks, paling them slightly- Yet I still would not back down.

"It's not charity," I argued, trying to hide my nervousness. I certainly had not meant any harm or offence. "It's a gift. I mean, it's probably not the best you'll ever had, I'm really sorry about that, but I made pancakes for my family and we had a left over. I mean, Alfred would take it, but…you would probably appreciate it more." _And need it more. _I did not add those last words, for fear of insulting him further, but I had a feeling he got my message. After a moment I quietly added, "and you can't refuse. If you want to save it for later, fine. But I'm leaving it with you. Throw it out, give it to the birds-or eat it. The choice is yours." I quickly shoved the offending pancake into his hands and whirled around, angry at that blush that just would _not_ go away. I didn't want to stay and make things worse, suddenly breathless at the thought that he misunderstood my actions and hated me, thinking I merely pitied him.

I began to stride away when I felt something on my shoulder. It was warmth, and it seeped through my circulatory system before squeezing my heart. His hand gripped my shoulder; an invitation. The "wait" he did not vocally ask for was shown clearly. I paused, hoping against hope that this was a good sign, and turned around.

"Thanks," he muttered, flopping back down. Whether he was thanking me for not leaving, or the pancake-or both- I was not sure; but that did not matter. I smiled, understanding. I sat down next to him.

He took a tentative bite before his eyes went wide. "Crap! This is _awesome!" _I grinned, suddenly feeling high.

"Thank you for the high compliment."

He ate the rest quickly, and I couldn't help but wonder how hungry he had been. "That was…um…you made that?" I smiled softly, eyes a glow. If I was known at all for anything, it was my pancakes.

"They taste better with syrup." Maple syrup. Ah, but that was yet another luxury, one I had not had in years.

"Um. Geez, but that's awesome…uh, thanks." I smiled, thrilled that he had liked the pancake. I suddenly wished that I had more to give him.

We were quiet for a moment; but the quiet was comfortable. He wasn't ignoring me; he could see me. He had wanted me to stay, after all. That truth alone was enough to make me happy. But it was true that quiet with Gilbert was not uncomfortable; it felt nice. Somehow more enjoyable than senseless chatter. After a moment, however, Miss Curiosity flared again.

"Anything interesting in the paper?" I asked, nudging it with my foot nonchalantly. He stiffened again, and I wondered what I had said wrong.

"Where would someone like me learn to _read?"_ He asked. Part of me was thankful that it was the ground he glared at this time, not me. The rest was too horrified to register that.

Couldn't _read?_ My thoughts spluttered for a moment. How could this be? I hadn't been too sure how some Lowers would learn; but to think that a fraction of them were illiterate was almost painful. To not be able read was like losing a limb. It was a fire of burnt opportunities, sparked by complete and utter _unfairness. _ I couldn't imagine my own life without the life raft books had provided me. Especially after Papa…

"Can most Lowers read?" I asked quietly, praying that most were able to.

"Yeah, I guess. Not that they'd be employed anyways, but most can. I never had time, in between my baby brother and all that." I was half surprised that his glare didn't burn a hole through the newspaper.

"Well, I'm teaching you." My words were firm ice water tossed against the cruel fire.

He stared at me for a moment. My gaze was firm. "Reading…it saved my life, honestly. It's one of the most important tools out there. I swear, it might just save _your_ life one day, and I won't be able to sleep at night if I can't teach you. Would you be willing to learn?" After a moment, he looked back at the paper. I grinned, leaned over, and grabbed it.

"Well, let's start with the alphabet…"

**A/N! Haha! 11:50….It's still the 20****th****!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

My teaching idea faltered at first. Gilbert didn't look too interested, and I was trying very hard to push away my nagging self doubts (_you have no idea how to do this if you get caught you'll shame yourself and your family and he has that "not doing anything" face so you're failing already just give up!). _However, to my relief, he didn't change the subject or slack off- instead he allowed me to continue.

However, by the time the sun began to make way for the moon, and brilliant streaks of golden purples and golds marked the arrival of sunset, things began to ease. The ice was melting, and the water that remained began to tentatively bask in the warmth. He began to pay more attention. The board expression –or perhaps façade- began to melt away into rather diligent concentration; and my focus on the lesson kicked out any other thoughts, such as the haunting doubts.

I looked absently away from the paper for a moment to rest my violet eyes; the sunset startled me out of my intense concentration. "Oh, maple…"

"What? Are you going to be distracted by the pretty colours now, little girl?" Gilbert mocked, his smirk back in full force. I fought the urge to playfully roll my eyes at him, although in truth I felt a bit miffed. As I have mentioned before, I can be a bit easy going, in the sense that I can lose myself in my thoughts and daydream for hours, allowing the world around me to float by. It wasn't like anyone really talked to me anyways, so as long as I wasn't working, no one would notice or care. And it w_as_ true that I had found myself on several former occasions basking in the sight of a sunset or sunrise and getting lost in it; but I wouldn't do that in the middle of something important, such as teaching someone how to read. And somehow, the idea of Gilbert thinking of me as some silly little girl with her head in the clouds bothered me. A lot. Bothered me even more than Carlos calling me boring; it didn't matter that Carlos was my supposed friend, and Gilbert probably thought of me as some acquaintance at best. Somehow, Gilbert's opinion mattered more.

I sighed away my thoughts. "No, I just have to be getting home. My mother wanted me back before dark." I picked up the newspaper, suddenly curious about it. "Where did you find this? Paper and ink cost money, and newspapers are only now coming back in fashion, what with the Technology Disaster. How did you get this?"

He shrugged. "I won it from a fight."

I decided it was probably best not to ask for details. "But you can't read it?"

"No. But it's still important to at least _try _and know what's going on, I guess." I nodded slowly at his words.

"Well, newspapers are expensive; but my family can read them at the Elite estates where we work. I don't know how you'll get another one of these, unless you get into a fight every day." His smirk grew more pronounced, and I realized he probably didn't mind that idea too much. However, I did.

"Keep this. We'll use it for your lessons." As I got to my feet, a sudden wave of nervousness broke over my head. What if he didn't want to keep learning? What if he thought it a waste of time? It suddenly occurred to me that, if I didn't have the chance to teach him to read, then I wouldn't have much of a chance to talk to him at all. Like Carlos had said, I wasn't very interesting. Gilbert would get board of me soon enough when he realized I had little to offer in the way of exciting conversation, or …well…._anything._ A fear gripped me at the thought, and, for a moment, the truth of it plunged me into despair.

"You sure you want to keep teaching me?" He asked. His tone was akin to a sneer; but it didn't match his eyes.

"Yes." My answer was firm. "How about 8ish, tomorrow? Around the time the market gets started."

He looked at me for a moment, those scarlet eyes looking as though they could read my very soul. "Alright then," he finally agreed. I suddenly wished desperately that I could one day read those eyes as I could read my books. I could have sworn I saw confusion sweeping through them, and possibly relief, too. But that could have just been the sun, reflecting off those ruby pools.

* * *

The dark was just starting to seep into the sky by the time I had hurried home. I quietly opened the door, expecting the usual darkness that this old house usually greeted me with. Instead, it was awash with the dim light of the single light bulb that dangled precariously above the table. This could mean one of two things. Either Alfred or I were in huge trouble, or-

"Company." The word was a quick mutter tossed in my direction from Alfred, who was seated at the table along with Alice and a young Average man. A man I instantly recognized; the man on the bike from earlier, the one who had nearly run over a small child and didn't even check to see if the child was alright.

"Hello," I murmured quietly. The sudden stark contrast between my quiet voice and roaring heartbeat was almost humorous. For one sickening moment, I was sure of three things. One: This man had seen me talk to Gilbert afterwards and was telling my mother. Two: I would be in horrible trouble and my family possibly disgraced. Three: I would say or do whatever I had to, but I would not stop seeing Gilbert. I _would_ teach him to read, and no class system that was more or less responsible for the death of a young child would stop me. The first two thoughts squeezed my heart painfully, but the third thought made me feel as though I had grown an extra foot. It was a very terrifying and yet still very empowering moment.

The moment ended with the small, polite smiles that graced my direction before I was forgotten again and quiet conversation between this man and my mother continued. They looked as though they could be discussing the weather, or occupations. If he had seen anything, he had not told my mother. The relief was so powerful that it almost dragged me to the floor.

Unsure of what to do-or why this man was here- I awkwardly slid into a chair next to Alfred. All I heard before Alfred suddenly bolted up was Alice saying "So, Mr. Seller." Then Alfred got up, grabbed my arm, shot his million dollar smile at the two and half pulled, half dragged me to his room.

Well, it was more like _our_ room. It was a small square of a room with a worn cotton sheet hanging in the middle of it for privacy. The room held little other than two beds, one on each side of the cotton curtain, two small work tables, and a dusty old window. He dragged me over to his side, shut the thin wood door, and then finally faced me.

The silence was a million piranhas, dancing about my feet. I glared down at them before sitting on my brother's bed, waiting for his speech, and all the accusations and lectures that were sure to come with it. "So. About today," he began, running his hand through his unkempt hair. "Um. What the frig was that stunt today?"

I was quiet for a moment before finally looking up at him. "Alfred…have you ever thought about the class system? Like, really thought of it?"

"Yeah, I guess…"

"Well, why do you follow it?"

"Because it keeps people safe, and I'm the hero. I have to keep people safe. People like you, Maddie. There are things beyond your comprehension-"

It was the patronizing tone that did it. I looked up at him with a baleful glare. Everything inside me began to heat up with a fire that was hot. Very hot. _Too hot._ The fire was fed by every comment thrown at me from his "friends" nearly every time I ran into them. The fire digested and chewed over every memory of Alfred being chosen first, being liked more, shining brighter, despite every stupid comment, every time he ignored me, all these years of having no one to talk to after Papa died. I had nothing left after Papa. And now Alfred, who had stolen near _everything_, wanted to steal away Gilbert? For Pete's sake, Gilbert probably thought nothing of me; and as much as that hurt, at least I could still talk to him and _not be under Alfred's shadow_!

"What, so having your friends think I'm you and beat me up is a "hero" thing to do?! Do you know that they all hate me because you annoy the crap out of them? Did that ever occur to you? But do they take it out on you? Heaven forbid the all great _hero_ get a _sock in the jaw_! No, instead it's _me_! So don't you _dare_ act like you're so much better than I am. I may be over sensitive, and hate fights, but at least I'm not an impulsive _idiot_!"

My mouth could not hold back the words I had held in passive aggressively for so long. It all came out in a torrent, a tsunami fed by years of neglect and humiliation. Yes, I loved my brother. I was willing to take a punch for him, and for every memory of ire and grief I blamed him for, there was undoubtedly a happy memory as well. But in that moment of pure red heat and defense, all I could remember was the constant over shadowing. All I could taste and see was the burning red of hurt, anger and fear. And all I could hear were my thoughts, come out in a voice louder than I had ever managed it, aimed straight for my brother.

"You know, I never really thought of the class system either," I continued, "until today. But Gilbert, even if he is a supposed Lower, is more than that. Even you couldn't punch him! He talked to me, didn't mistake me for you, and actually _tried_ to hear me. He had a baby brother, you know? A little boy. But his brother was a Lower by birth, and died of an illness the doctors refused to treat. Do you think supporting a system that does that makes you some hero? Well let me tell you something, Alfred. It wasn't just some Lower that killed Papa. It was a _system._ So don't you dare tell me that some things are "beyond my-"

"_OI, Madeline! That's __enough__ already!" _My mother's voice shot through my senses, drenching the fire with icy water that tingled in my blood and diffused the anger. My eyes opened up to my irritated mother standing over me –oh dear- and a single tear on my shocked brother's face. Oh, _maple. _I had never meant to make him _cry!_ I brought my fingers to my mouth, shocked that I had actually just yelled at him like that. Ashamed and dazed, it didn't even occur to me that Alice had probably heard my entire spiel about the Lowers and Gilbert.

"Now, the lot of you, apologize to each other. Alfred for being an attention hog, and you, Madeline, for _that_ lovely display. Now do it sharpish and _quietly, _for Heaven's sake! I don't want Mr. Seller down there to hear all this, and I doubt you lot do either!" And then she was gone, a fake polite smile plastered on her face, all ready for the man at our kitchen table.

The room was eerily quiet for a moment.

"Wow. Didn't know you felt that way," Alfred finally muttered, flicking away the tear. I bit in my lip in guilt when I realized he was trying to keep more tears at bay.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. It wasn't fair." I prayed my genuine shame was evident to him.

"Did…did you say his brother died?"

I sighed shakily. "Yeah. That's why he saved that little boy today. Ironically, it was Mr. Seller down there who nearly ran the child over." Alfred's pained eyes grew stormy at the mention of Mr. Seller.

"Him. Why is he even here?"

"You don't know? I have no idea."

"I don't like the way he looks at Mom." I gave him a startled glace at that, ready to ask just what he meant by that, when his next statement slammed against my train of thought. "I…well, wow. I…that's pretty bad. About his brother."

"I know."

We looked at each other, and smiled when we realized the storm was over. He grabbed me into a bone-crushing hug, which I reciprocated with equal force.

"Sorry for being a jerk."

"Me, too." Then I pulled away. "You know, I'm teaching him to read," I confessed in a whisper. "So just tell mom I'm at the library tomorrow, please? And keep your friends away from the street where you met Gilbert today."

Alfred laughed. "Of course, you _would_ be teaching him to read. You and your books. But…I'll be close by. If I hear you scream, or he does something, I swear, he's gonna need more than just knowing how to read."

I couldn't help it; I hugged Alfred again. He wouldn't follow me directly; he wouldn't come and help Gil to read, or sit in on the lessons. He wouldn't over shadow me, not the one time I was desperate for him not too. I felt him squeeze me back before I broke up the hug, already planning the reading lesson for tomorrow.

Then Alfred paused, and suddenly looked nervous. I was pulled from my thoughts before they became too complex.

"What?" I recognized that look. "Do you need to ask me something? I just gave you the confession of the century. You can tell me anythi-"

"You pretty much said my friends hate me." His words were flat, tossed out in a monotone. I felt ashamed and guilty again.

"Well…only the weird guy with the scarf. And Carlos."

"What about…" he took in a shaky breath. "I don't care too much about them. What about Arthur?"

"Our cousin?" The look he gave me at the word "cousin" was a little odd. Disgust, almost. What was disgusting about Arthur being our cousin?

"Yeah. Him."

"Um…Well, he said something about you being annoying…and he gets mad when he pick on his eyebrows. But that was just today. Actually, he goes on about you the least. I don't even know if he really _dislikes_ you…you just annoy him from time to time. But he never really gets violent. Come to think of it, if punches had been thrown today," I began to muse, "he would have broken up the fight. That just occurred to me now. Huh." I smiled at the relief on Al's face. "Why?"

"Oh…you know," he said vaguely. "Family and all that." I wasn't fooled, and he knew it. "What?! Oh…fine. I'll explain later. Now. Let's go figure out why that dude is down flirting with our Mom."

"_Flirting?"_ I shook my head. "Poor guy." Alice was the type to act cold and uncaring, but underneath that cold exterior, she loved those she cared for fiercely. Although she never spoke of it, it was a common knowledge between the three of us that she would never re-marry after Papa died; no one could take his place in her heart. I had felt badly for her and worried about it at first; but after a while I had came to see that she was very independent minded- and in a way that meant not having another life partner was fine with her. If she didn't want one, she didn't need one, and thus wouldn't get one. Alfred and I knew full well that anyone who tried to woe her would end up getting the door in their face.

Alfred's expression startled me. It looked almost…_worried_. "I dunno, Maddie. This guy's kinda weird…but Mom doesn't mind him. I don't know if she realizes he's flirting, though."

(For someone who hated reading the mood, Alfred sure could spot flirting from a mile away. Alice had always said he got it from Papa. "As long as he doesn't end up a bleeding pervert like him," she would say.)

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Alfred asked. He trooped out of his room. I knew that he would be thinking of what I had said about the Lowers for a long while; and the fact that he had stopped challenging me on it was a good sign. Insulting someone to get your way was never the answer-but it was clear I had made an impression. I smiled, love for my "hero" brother stronger than ever.

But what was my plan? After I taught Gilbert to read-and then to write- would I go on to teach other Lowers? If I had managed to get Alfred to start thinking of them as people-managed to get him to at least just _consider_ it-then maybe I could do the same for the others?

If I could get people to look differently upon the Lowers, then maybe I could help ease the division lines? Then they wouldn't be so desperate as to mug people like my Papa. Then people like me could have friends with people like Gilbert without feeling afraid. And it could even help the Elite; people like Feli could befriend Averages like Liz and Ludwig, without his social class telling him it was wrong. Averages like Ludwig could be friends with Elite's like Feliciano, without fearing that a single opinion could count as an insult that could publicly tarnish his reputation.

If I could begin breaking this generation old division line, then Lower children like Gilbert's little brother would not die. Gilbert could feel free to go to school and learn to read with the other kids, and could get a job as anyone else and earn a decent wage. It would be fair opportunity. It would be beautiful.

I bit my lip as my thoughts got carried away. How could I possibly manage to do this? It was amazing I had even taken a step back to look at the class system for what it really was. How could I get anyone else to listen to me?

Then I looked at Alfred. Well, I had done what I previously would have thought of as impossible. I had gotten Alfred to at least start thinking hard about it. Maybe even question it.

But it wouldn't do for just Averages and Elites to start questioning this. Gilbert was resentful; so a few other Lowers proabaly were as well. All three classes would have to work together to abolish the discrimination; all would have to be willing to work together.

A small smile graced my lips.

Two down-myself and my brother. An entire city to go.

**A/N Thanks to all those who have read/faved/followed! YOU ARE ALL SO AWESOME! Thanks so much for paying attention to this story! Opinions welcomed! But please no flames. They make Canada sad. **

**So why is that man visiting? Why was Alfred curious about what Arthur thought of him? I'd love to hear your ideas! I have a pretty good idea of where this is going, but I would love your opinions…and they could give me an even better idea for the plot twists, too! I have a bunch of twists and turns coming up…I hope you all like it****:)**** Thanks again! Have a great week, all of you!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

Now, dear readers, I have some news for you. We have reached what one may refer to as a "check point"; a stop in the road, if you will. These first few moments Madeline has provided through her observant eyes have been what I would call an introduction; but even one as observant as she cannot capture all the details of the people and places prevalent in this tale. And so I am required to take this boat out of the harbor and take us out into the turbulence and excitement of the ocean.

What would I know, what would I see? Who-or what- even am I? All noble questions you may be wondering. The answers are as follows:

I know the way Madeline feels safe with her books; have seen the way her Papa could weave a fascinating story and intrigue her for hours. I know the way the sidewalks of her home were patchworks of cracks and bumps; have seen the war it took to get them there. I know the flames in Gilbert's eyes; have seen the gentle hue of the blue eyes of his little brother (such a sweet blue, so full of life-and forced too early to their vow of darkness ). I know where Alice had met her husband for the first time; I have even seen their small wedding, void of their parents, with only a few loyal family members present as witnesses. I know all the nooks and crannies of this tale I am about to illustrate to you, fair readers; for I have seen it all with my own eyes.

Who am I? What am I? Well, my answer to those questions are simple; you don't need to know the finer details. This story has little to do with the one who had witnessed it and now tells you of it. However, you may address me as "Narrator", if you feel you must have some way in which to label me.

So greetings, dear readers. I am Narrator. And I am going to continue on with this story.

…..

Let us begin where Madeline left off; she and Alfred were re-joining their mother and this fellow-Mr. Seller-whose motives for visiting were rather murky and unknown.

By the time they actually got downstairs, however, Mr. Seller was just walking out the door, being shown out by Alice. "Goodnight, Mr. Seller," the two heard their mother call out politely.

"Please. Call me Mike. I shall see you soon, love. Goodnight!" His slick response sailed off into the approaching night as the door shut behind him, and the man was gone. The hair rose on Madeline's arms and Alfred clenched his fists in rock like balls at the low, almost lecherous tone of Mike's voice that even Alfred had noticed.

"What a creep," Alfred muttered, glaring at the door.

"He seems fine, Alfred." The sharp, tired tone of their mother's voice reminded the two of the earlier outburst. She gave them a sharp look, no doubt still irritated by the loud outbreak. But she said nothing of it, merely saying a quick goodnight to her children before going to bed.

* * *

Now, dear readers, the story does not lie merely with Madeline and her family; but with those she has met and will soon meet. So allow me a liberty-travel with me. Let me take you across the area Madeline called home; past the average houses and apartments, past the commerce streets overfilling with sold goods and those eager to have their goods sold. Let me lead you to wear the sidewalk was no longer cracked, but was instead lain out smooth as silk, leading to the lavish homes and estates that could be owned only by those close friends with money and power. Let me point out the clear silhouette of the shining moon as it rose up to its true place among the stars to make a beautiful night sky complete; and allow me to point out how it seemed to mark out one estate in particular. The estate owned by the Varges family; the family of cheery Feliciano Varges.

Elizabeta was also milking in the shining moonlight, absently stroking the velvety brown horse she was leading back to the stables. She sighed as she walked alongside the horse, her mind decades away. Everything seemed so simple under this calming night sky; like the future was a bright canvas, hungry for her to write her own future. Yet that was a liberty she was not entitled to; as an Average, she would be able to befriend only other Averages. As a Stable Keeper- her last name, and thus family occupation- she would most likely be keeping the horses at stables happy for the majority of her life. A lucky thing then, that she loved these horses-if partially because they reminded her of all she longed to be. Strong, reliable, free-

"Miss?"

The sudden voice in the quiet of the approaching night startled poor Hazel, the horse Elizabeta was leading back to the stalls. With a wild "_neigh_!" and a petrified gleam in her eyes, Hazel did what she believed to be the most sensible course of action at the time; kick upwards (barely missing Elizabeta's skull) and dash off like a feral wind. Missing the horse's hooves, Elizabeta slid gracelessly with a dull thud into the mossy grass of the horse field by the stables, where she had been walking with the horse. Mud and grass stains seeped into her worn out clothes as she hit the ground, and then made their way into her hair as her long brown waves were tousled out of the cloth scrunchie and cascaded into the muddy moss. Somehow, her bright flower clip remained firmly in place. She was sure a bruise or two would also be blooming on her knees.

Not one for caring much about physical appearance, Elizabeta hardly noticed the sorry state she was in. She was all set to run after that horse before she ran into the stables and broke her leg; that is, until the voice appeared again, and rather frantically at that.

"Miss! Miss, I am so terribly sorry. I didn't mean to startle your horse like that. Are you hurt?" A graceful pale hand flew towards her, stopping near her face; an offer to help her up. Pausing for a moment to register this voice-which she did not recognize-Elizabeta took the hand on its offer, looking up towards its owner as she did so.

A (rather handsome) young man-perhaps around her age, in fact- looked worriedly at her as he helped her up. He had on glasses, which framed vivid violet eyes and sat below glossy brown hair which had only one piece askew, perched merrily atop his head. He was most certainly of higher class, if his rather fancy clothes were anything to go by. Hardly a ruffle of that white jobot was out of place.

"I'm alright," she assured him merrily once she was on her feet. She smiled at this stranger as his face relaxed in relief, obviously quite worried over her fall. Personally, Elizabeta found that a little odd; after all, she had been roughhousing with the neighborhood boys since before she could walk. (In fact, before she began, err, filling out a bit, she thought she _was_ one of the boys.) In any case, she had fallen down and got knocked about quite a bit in her short lifetime-thus the worried look on his face surprised her.

Then again, he was most likely Elite. The Elite did not roughhouse; they thought themselves far too refined. He probably thought she had hurt herself falling or something, not realizing she was quite used to it. Of course, she would be worried if someone else had fallen; like that sweet girl Madeline from earlier. But as for herself? She was hardy. A simple fall was nothing for Elizabeta to fret over.

After a moment she retracted her hand from his warm one; partly because it would have been awkward to just stand there holding his hand, but also due in part to the fact that she was suddenly aware of the mess she surely looked like. As she smoothed down her disheveled hair, she quickly introduced herself. "I'm Elizabeta, by the way. Elizabeta Stable-Keeper." She would have shaken his hand as a form of respect, but she was suddenly hyper aware of the dirt that had caked into her palm during the fall.

"I'm Roderich. Roderich Edelstein." He did not seem offended by the lack of handshake.

Wait a moment; the fall, the horse…."The horse! You'll have to excuse me for a moment, Roderich; er, sir Edelstein." There were some Elite-such as cute little Feli-that she could not call "sir" or "lady" for the life of her. However, it was usually the best-and safest-to go with the normal formalities used in interacting with Elite.

Off she ran, leaving Roderich to stare at her and wonder how she could run so fast after such a hard fall. Since he wasn't exactly fit himself, he opted to just stand there and hope she came back soon; since the whole point he had called out to her was to ask for directions back to the main houses of the estate, having gotten himself lost.

Sure enough, after a good 15 minutes Elizabeta and Hazel came back, the horse somehow managing to look rather sheepish.

"Hello again," Roderich greeted her, trying to conceal his intense relief. The debate over staying by the stables or trying to fumble along finding his own way back was not a pretty one. "Is the horse alright?"

"Oh, Hazel's fine!" Elizabeta chuckled, scratching the horse's velvety ears. "She just gets spooked easily. A cowardly horse if you ask me; but she's quite gentle and beautiful." As she spoke, Hazel stepped closer to Roderich and butted her head down against his lightly and affectionately. "Oh, she likes you!"

Roderich smiled gently at the horse, stroking her softly. "She probably smells all the other horses on me. I've been wandering around here for quite a while, trying to find my way," Roderich admitted, gritting his teeth. Pride was a harsh mistress, and it his sense of direction-or lack thereof- could be pretty embarrassing. Yet he didn't feel quite so embarrassed admitting his shortcomings in that moment. Maybe it was the freedom of the crisp night air, the fact that this girl was a class below him; or even Elizabeta herself. He didn't know. All he knew was that at that moment, his pride seemed like a very small detail.

"You see, my family is visiting the Varges's for a few weeks. Our families are friends, you see. But I suppose it has been a while since I have been here, and I may have wandered a bit too far from the main housing," he continued as explaination.

"Would you mind if I helped direct you?" Remembering the Elite pride, Elizaneta treaded carefully. Roderich nodded gratefully.

"Ja, that would be appreciated. Thank you."

"Just give me a moment to put Hazel in her stall for the night, and I can help you. Here, you can come with me if you want! It's just a quick trip to the stables." Quietly, Roderich nodded, and followed her into the horse stables as she ushered Hazel to her stall. Murmuring to the horse cheerfully, Elizabeta made sure to quickly clean out the horse's feet and settle her in for the night. Roderich couldn't help but feel comforted by the soft yet cheery tone the girl used, and the soothing demure she carried around the animals.

"Do you look after all the horses?" He found himself asking.

"I have a few helpers, but I mainly keep the stables and horses clean and happy."

"Hmm. That's a lot of work," Roderich observed.

Elizabeta laughed. "I'm a hard worker. And I love the horses."

"Well, they are certainly beautiful."

"Alrighty! I've already checked on the other horses; so that's all for tonight! Here, I'll walk you to the main houses before going home." Roderich frowned.

"It's getting dark out. Are you sure you'll be alright getting home at this time of night?" Elizabeta's green eyes widened ever so slightly. She was relatively introverted and independent; people didn't often worry or fuss over her, much less worry over her commute home.

"Thank you, but I'm sure I'll be fine. I don't live that far."

"Well, be careful." Roderich wasn't exactly a worrywart; but it was still an uneasy thought, imagining this girl wandering alone out at night where the Lowers were prowling. Of course, something told him that as gentle as this girl was with the horses, she had _no_ problem defending herself. They walked to the main housing of the lavish estate in companionable quiet.

"Here we are," she said after a few moments. Sure enough, they had arrived within 10 minutes. Roderich smiled in appreciation.

"Thank you, Miss Stable-Keeper. Have a good night."

"You too, sir," Elizabeta replied. She didn't want to leave; a silly thought that made little sense. She wanted to stay and chat with Roderich; but that was a useless desire. He had to go in, out of the cold of nighttime. Besides, it wasn't like Elites could really be friends with Averages anyways. Well. Except for Feliciano…but that was Feliciano. Oblivious, ever chattering, careless Feliciano. He was his own category.

"…Call me Roderich. If you want to. Goodnight." And then he was gone, and the night suddenly felt a lot chillier. Rubbing her hands together for warmth, Elizabeta turned around and walked away from the estate, feeling oddly numb.

_'Are you sure you'll be alright getting home at this time of night?' _ _'Call me Roderich.'_ Whatever could he have meant? Elizabeta knew she looked like a frightful mess, and in any case, a friendship between them made no sense. He was good company, had the horse's approval and certainly wasn't so hard on the eyes; but he was Elite. His friendship was unattainable, and he would never even see her as more than the messy stable keeper who had had the decency to walk him to where he had to go. For some reason, the thought made her feel numb and cold.

Yes, there were exceptions to the class division regarding friendships. She herself was rather good friends with the lively Elite Feli. Feliciano and Ludwig would probably be good friends-once they got used to each other, that is. At the thought, a rather wicked smirk graced Elizabeta's face. Ah, yes, what good_ "friends" _they could make….What? Can't blame a girl for dreaming! She couldn't help but notice how they balanced each other out and how absolutely _adorable_ they were together….

But Feli was Elite. One day he would be told to give up any Average friendships and relationships, be the head of his household, marry some Elite (Feliciano's older brother, Lovino, was currently doing that himself, settling down somewhere in an Estate not too far away with his Elite Spanish partner) and forget all about Ludwig. Just like Elizabeta had to forget about those concerned violet eyes and the hand that had not hesitated in helping her up onto her feet. Perhaps Feliciano had a chance at a future of some sort with Ludwig; she herself could never go as far as friendship with Roderich.

She just wasn't that lucky.

* * *

The next morning brought none of the sun from the day previous. Instead, it brought torrents of rain.

Gilbert muttered to himself about how "un-awesome" the weather was, but he still braved it, waiting for his reading lesson like a diligent solider. As he waited for Madeline –hoping she brought herself a cozy rain jacket to keep herself from catching a cold in this weather- he heard something odd come up along the road.

Cars, as Madeline has explained to you readers in the chapters previous, were a rare commodity in that region and time. After the War –and the Technology Disaster and economy crash that came with it- cars were a precious rarity. So to hear a car cruise down a street in the heart of an Average community was rather odd, no?

Gilbert hid himself behind a post so as not to get caught as he spied. The silver car stopped by the end of the street, and a young man stepped out, said something to the driver, and then the car was gone. As the young man turned-as though to see if anyone were around- Gilbert caught sight of his face. He recognized that face. It was the face of the man on the bike from yesterday, the idiot who had nearly ran over the small child; but Gilbert could have sworn he also knew that man from somewhere else.

* * *

**A/N I AM SO SORRY! I didn't update last week…I am so terribly sorry. No, I'm not giving up on this story; I had just reached a slump and didn't post. To try and make up for that, after I post up this chapter, I'll write another chapter and post it during this week to make up for the lack of a chapter last week. Then I'll post up the normal chapter a week on Friday or Saturday; so that will be 3 chapters this week. **

**Sorry for the lack of action in this chapter! But rest assured, Roderich's introduction will have great significance later on; and not just for the possibility of Aushun. Gilbert's sight is important, too!**

**Two more things: notice how most Elites don't have occupational last names? It's more of an Average thing, because they have most of the jobs. Also, "Narrator" is its own character, with a slight personality; it's not really me, Thesuncomesaftertherain.**

**Also, I have no idea how this story is going. Personally I don't think it's going so well, but I would appreciate your input and opinions. Just please no flames :) If you have any questions, just ask! I'm more than happy to answer them:D **

**Have a great day! **


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Gilbert received three things that morning: a free shower- courtesy of mother nature- an odd sight that seemed to tug at old memories, and a beautiful girl.

Not 5 minutes after spying the man from the bike getting out of the car, Gilbert spied another figure moving along soaking street. She wasn't looking at Gilbert when she first came into sight, so he had a good few seconds to properly assess her. Madeline's braided hair hung down her back like thick rope, water droplets dangling off of it and tickling her back. Rain streamed down her pale face and pooled inside the creases of her worn jacket; Gilbert was surprised at the relief he felt when he realized it was probably a rain jacket, and thus keeping her insulated in the rain. It made sense; Madeline was a Planter, and thus worked outside a lot-exposing herself to the elements. Yet the relief he felt both surprised and agitated him.

Another thought that took him off guard was the realization that she was, well, _beautiful_. It wasn't necessarily traditional beauty; she was too lanky and too plain by traditional beauty standards. Yet at the same time, she wasn't plain at all. Her hair was the colour of gold tinted chestnuts; her violet eyes comparable to the aurora borealis. She was subtlety graceful in movement, and her voice had in it a type of calm that he would be willing to listen to for hours.

For a moment Gilbert simply stood in surprise, thinking all this through. It wasn't even a type of beauty he could joke over; wolf whistles and cat calls could be quite hilarious, but they just didn't fit in the situation. She was pretty but…not _that _type of pretty.

The confusing thoughts swirling about his mind were washed off with a single word: "Gilbert!" He focused his vision on her approach, catching sight of her worried expression. "Aren't you all wet and cold? How long have you been standing out here?"

Gilbert bust out into his signature obnoxious laughter. "Kesese! What, a little girl like you is afraid of a little rain? How sad."

She raised a brow, looking much like her mother for a moment. "_I'm_ not. But _you_ shouldbe. I'm willing to wager that your clothes are a bit too thin for this rain," she retorted, feeling oddly at ease in his company, as per usual.

"I'm not a fragile little girl, unlike _some_ people," he goaded. "I can handle a little rain. Now, are you here to underestimate the awesome me, or poke around at a newspaper?" He waved the old newspaper in her face, spraying her with excess water.

"You do realize that all this rain water will destroy the paper," Madeline pointed out. And where could she get another? Newspapers weren't exactly the most accessible, paper being the price it was. And she could certainly read the paper at Elite estates, but taking them home was another hurdle altogether. She grabbed the paper and stuffed it into her rain jacket. "Now come on. We have to go someplace dry."

In the end, they found immunity from the rain in an abandoned gazebo a few streets away; but at this point I shall for now leave these two to their reading lesson and take you through the rainy roads and down a familiar little street; the street on which Madeline's home rested. That morning, three people were accounted for in that home; Alice, a grousing sleepy Alfred, and Mike Seller.

Alfred groaned out a halfhearted "mmmftootiredgo_away_mom" in response to his mother's morning call. However, his tune changed upon hearing a man's voice drift from the dinner table. What was some guy doing here this early? It wasn't that creep Ivan or that jerk Carlos; those voices he recognized. Nor was it Kiku, the quiet boy who had moved to the town several months ago, or the bushy browed Arthur. Yet he had heard that voice from _somewhere…._

Alice, meanwhile, was shaking her head at her son's lack of energy. "You'll have to excuse him. He isn't much of a morning person. Would you like some tea?"

Seated comfortably at the table, Mike gave what he hoped was a seemingly innocent smile. In all truth, he didn't mind Alfred's absence; the boy could stay away as long as he wished. '_And then longer, hopefully_,' he mused to himself. "Yes, some tea would be lovely, thank you."

Alice nodded firmly. She had been making tea for so many years that she hardly had to think as she set about making it; at this point, it was more or less instinct. "Madeline isn't present either. You just missed her. She scooted off to the library. So I suppose you will have to make do with just me for now, Mr. Seller."

"That's absolutely fine. And please; you can call me Mike."

Alice didn't answer and pressed her lips as she turned away from him, suddenly focused on the tea. She wasn't close with many men in town; certainly not enough to be on first name basis. The last man who had earned that privilege was….

'_No, no, no, Alice. _**Don't**_ go down that thought process_. _It's merely his… forwardness that is bothering me. Yes, that's right; he's just being blooming forward._' Still, she didn't chew him out. Yet. After all, it _had_ been a while since she had had company, and while she certainly loved her kids, having someone else to talk to was an admittedly nice change. "What brings you here today?" She asked, changing the conversation.

"Well, as you know I'm new around here, and came by yesterday to about this town. Anyways, I found you gave such great detail, and was wondering if you could perhaps _show _me around?" '_Please work. Please, _please_ work…'_

Alice offered him a rueful chuckle. "Well, you've certainly picked a lovely day for it."

He smiled sheepishly. "I believe it's supposed to clear up around noon time."

"I have work after lunch. But I suppose I could show you around about 7ish, after evening meal? I could give you the grand tour then."

Mike's dull green eyes lit up like a revived forest. "That sounds lovely! Thank you."

"No problem. Here is the tea…Oi, good morning Alfred! Gotten enough sleep, have you?" Alfred stumbled sleepily into the room, eyeing the man seated at the table, who nodded politely at him. He looked at his mother for explanation.

"This, Alfred, is Mike Seller. You remember, don't you? From last night. He's new in town. I'm showing him 'round town tonight, as a sort of tour. For Heaven's sake, remember your manners Alfred. Don't just stand there looking gob smacked."

"Well how you do, Seller," Alfred greeted cheekily in response to his mother's nagging. "I-" he was cut off by a knock at the door. "Oh. I got that." Alfred ambled over to the door and wrenched it open to reveal arresting emerald orbs that held poorly veiled panic staring up at him. "Oh, h-hey Artie! What's up, dude?" Alfred shuffled nervously for a moment, trying hard not to look at those emerald eyes. Just as Arthur opened his mouth, a desperate Alfred decided to blame his quickening heart beat on the fact that Arthur-'_cousin, come on Alfred, remember that'_-was on his doorstep, soaking in the rain, which would lead to a sharp nagging on poor mannered from his mother should he leave the already soaked boy out in the rain. So he more or less grabbed him and shuffled the boy inside. "Come on in, you're soaked!"

"I'm so sorry to intrude," Arthur burst out, "but it's Mother. She's ill, and wanted me to fetch one on you. She prefers family to a doctor, you know how she is."

"Oh my, how bad is my sister?" Asked Alice, trying hard to disguise her worry.

An important note about Alice was that she had a problem with expression. As a child, she chose to keep to herself, her books, and the fairies. This resulted in her quickly gaining the ability to live independently, not needing many people around to keep her happy (in fact, in all honesty most people drove her mad). However, it also led to a trouble with communication and expression. Since she kept to herself so much, she often felt like an outsider looking in (much like her daughter, ironically). The poor relationship she had with her elder brothers-err, sister- only made it worse, leading her to truly distrust those around her.

Because of this, she grew a little bit lonely; before she met Frances, at least. She had developed the mindset that she could do quite well on her own, thank you very much; so actually learning to trust and rely on others upon meeting her future husband was quite the frightening odd experience, and she never felt truly comfortable. Of course she loved her children and she loved Frances; but the fact remained that she never quite knew how to deal with people. The truth about Alice was that she was quite a caring person, particularly protective and loving when it came to her family; but as a form of self protection she kept about her a cold demure. Caring for people could lead to pain, pain that she had no control over. Like the pain she would always feel surrounding her husband's death. She was always on guard, always cynical and blunt-hiding her emotions, as though they were poison to her very heart. She acted like that to protect herself; on the inside, the part of her even she rarely realized was there, she truly and deeply _did_ care about those around her and was bent on protecting them.

Which brings us back to the situation at hand. Upon hearing that her sister was ill, she tried to cover up her worry, making Mike to think of her as rather cold; not that he minded. Of course, Alfred, who was used to his mother, knew her better than that.

"She's not direly sick, just ill and ought to stay in bed," Arthur explained. "I have to go to our occupation today, so I won't be able to look after her nor Peter."

"Awe, that's right! Little baby Peter! The one who flushed your scones down the toilet!"

"Yes, Alfred. _That_ Peter…. Oi, don't look so happy! Those were good scones! It was a waste of good food!"

"Yeah," Alfred muttered, unable to stop himself. "Good for keeping a fire going."

"Why you-"

"That's _enough_," Alice put in firmly. "Arthur, I'm afraid that at least one of us has to go do the Planting, since we were unable to do so yesterd-"

"I can do it, Mom," Alfred interrupted. The look in Arthur's eyes had won him over; it was obvious he was worried about his mother, although he was trying very hard to swallow his worry. Plus, there were a few things he wanted to discuss with his friend, and this seemed the perfect opportunity. And most importantly, he was the hero. Heroes were supposed to help the sick and all that jazz, right? Plus, Maddie would probably want to devote her time to her little reading lessons, his mother would be busy giving Mr. Creeps the tour, and he knew that Arthur's family occupation would keep him out late. "You and Maddie can go do the planting. After all, it makes sense for me to look after ol' Aunt Emma. I _am_ the hero, after all!"

"Alright," Alice conceded after a moment spent brooding. She made a bee-line to their cabinets, pulling out some stale bread and a can of broth. She then dug some meat from the tiny refrigerator and placed it in a small bag. "Here," she said as she thrust the food at her son. "This is enough to make a meal for yourself and Emma. Don't go through their food, no one in this family is made of money. Alright?" Mike noticed the scarcity of food in those cabinets, and his eyes narrowed. '_Such little food for a family of three_.' He instantly felt a little better and more confident about his plans.

Oblivious to Mike Seller's thoughts, Alice continued. "Stay until Arthur gets back, unless she drastically improves. Please don't chat her ear off, alright? And don't break anything!"

Alfred laughed. "I'll be fine, Mom. Come on, Artie! Wait, do you have baby food for the little squirt?"

"For the millionth time," the disgruntled green-eyed boy could be heard saying as the two walked out the door. "It's Arthur! And yes, I do. I'll show you where when we get there."

The two ambled down the cracked sidewalks, the relentless rain propelling them forward. An unintentional brush of Arthur's shoulder sent Alfred bumbling off to the side, as though struck by a red hot poker. In fact, that's what it had felt like; a searing hot burn coursing through his veins, caused by the smallest of unintentional touches.

Alfred wasn't sure how much more of this his heart and mind could take.

He had always been close friends with his cousin. They had a bond that had been painstakingly been crafted together by time, adventures, and familial friendship. They had fought together (and each other) and laughed together; they had cried together and worked together. Yet something had…changed. After years of arguing each other, their arguments seemed almost…pre meditated. He knew what would set Arthur off; and vica verca. The fires they waged against each other had fizzled to dusty ashes; the bite was gone. And yet these ashes had the potential to hurt so much more. Like yesterday, when Maddie had told him how mad Arthur had been at him. Why had that bothered him so much? Why was he so grateful to find out that Arthur hadn't seemed quite so furious after all? And why was he so eager to ask Arthur about it, just in case there was something he had been mad about and had been meaning to get off his chest? _Why?_

The change had been gradual and subtle; like age. You never quite notice it until a photograph brings the wrinkles and height difference into plain sight. Yet the change was vicious in Alfred's eyes; it was poison, burning up his friendship, the bond he held so dear. Because nothing was the s_ame._ How could such a small touch startle him so, when it would mean nothing from Kiku or that creepy Ivan? Perhaps the most troubling of all was that this foreign feeling, this slow poison, felt…_nice_. The fire of the touch burned…but it did not char him. And that made no sense whatsoever.

But what did this all mean about his relationship with Arthur? What did this _mean?_

The two walked on in silence.

Arthur lived with Aunt Emma in a small average home a good 15 minutes away from the Bonnefboy household. Their home was roughly the same size; although the small flowerbed by the door way was a nice touch, making the rotting wood seem a bit more _alive. _ Silently, Arthur led Alfred past the door, and into the small, well kept home. "Mum!" He called. "I'm home!" A disgruntled meow came as answer; his call had woken up the cat.

Alfred grinned fondly at the cat, remembering the day he had found the stray howling up in a tree. For a five year old, he had shimmied up that tree pretty efficiently, although he had merely earned a disgruntled hiss at his efforts. In fact, it was that hiss that had made the cheerful five year old think of his moody cousin Arthur. Arthur got the cat for his 7th birthday (Arthur was two years older than Alfred). Arthur, who had begun indulging in the sophisticated adult drink tea at the time, decided to name the cat after his favorite type of tea; Earl Grey.

"Hey, buddy!" Alfred cooed. Arthur rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Earl Grey, sod off. Come on Alfred. Mum's in here." He led Alfred down a small hall way before poking his head in his mother's small bedroom. "Oh, she's sleeping. We ought to let her rest. When she wakes up, the running water comes from the well out in the back yard. She might want it to help soothe her throat. The medicine is in the kitchen. This is Peter's baby food; he's up in our room now , I'd reckon. Oh, you can store your food in our little refrigerator here…" Arthur beckoned for Alfred to follow, as he left his sleeping mother in peace.

"Woah! Where'd you get all these?" Alfred crowed. Arthur stifled a groan. Concentration had never been Alfred's forte…

"The books you mean?" He asked, motioning towards them. 5 books rested on a small table by the kitchen. "Old family heirlooms. I'm surprised you didn't notice before. I think some belong to your own mother; old childhood stories. I read them from time to time."

Alfred grinned at them. "Well I'm no bookworm, but Maddie sure is! Could she read these?"

"If she came over, I don't see why not." Alfred nodded in appreciation, feeling like a good Big Brother. He casually picked one of the books up, just to see if it looked mildly interesting. A piece of paper flew out promptly and fell like a graceful feather to the cold ground. "Alfred, those are old cherished books. If you damaged that just by _holding-"_

"Hey, Art, look at this! I don't think it's from the story…" Alfred examined the paper curiously. 'It looks like some sort of diagram." Arthur frowned.

"I don't remember a diagram in that story…" He took the paper from his friend's hands, ever so careful as to not touch his bare hand.

Rosalie=Edward

Scott Oliver Austin Alistair Alice=Frances

Madeline Alfred

"What is this?" Alfred asked curiously. "It looks hand written."

"It's a family tree. A small one, only three generations…but a family tree none the less. Actually…It looks like your mother's. Look, there is her name, your father's, yourself and Madeline!" Arthur stabbed his finger at the familiar names.

"But who are Scott, Oliver, Austin, and Alistair? Or that Rosalie and Edward up top?"

Arthur frowned, his eye brows netting together in confused concentration. "If I'm reading this correctly, then Rosalie and Edwards would be the two parents, and Scott Oliver Austin and Alice would be siblings." _'But that makes no sense…'_

"Well then, where's you, Peter and your mom? Emma is my Aunt on Mom's side. And who are those guys? Mom doesn't have any brothers…right?" Alfred asked, putting Arthur's thoughts out into the open air.

"I know nothing of an Edward or a Rosalie, either. Not that we know our grandparents." Arthur's frown deepened. "This makes no blasted _sense_."

"Maybe….the boys died, and this was drawn a while ago?" Alfred was grasping for straws.

"No." Arthur was firm. "You, Madeline and Frances are present in this; so Mum and I ought to be as well. This isn't an _old_ family tree, Alfred."

"It _can't_ be my Mom's!" Alfred countered. "I mean, you are my cousin, little baby Peter is my cousin, Emma's my aunt!"

"Not according to this."

The silence was suffocating for a moment before Arthur pocketed the family tree, hiding it away in his trousers pockets. "Enough of this nonsense," he demanded, hastily getting up. Something was pulling at him, something he didn't want to face. Not here. Not in this room. _Not with Alfred. _"I'll ask Mum about it later. When she's feeling well. I-I have to get going. Just stay here, yeah? Thank you. Look after Mum. Peter ...well, you've babysat him before. Come get me if you need anything..I'll be at my occupation. Bye, Alfred."

"Bye-wait! I gotta ask you something! Maddie said you thought she was me again and confronted her yesterday. Why? Hey, come back! Dude, don't ignore me!" Alfred was met with the slight slam of the front door.

Arthur could feel the supposed family tree burning a hole in his trouser's pocket. Away. _He had to get away._ The thoughts were _pulling_ at him, the feelings _groping_ at him; he just couldn't face them. Not yet. He half ran down the street to the openings of old abandoned woods, hardly seeing where his frantic legs where taking him until he just about tripped over a discarded tree branch. He looked around himself, momentarily confused. He found himself standing amidst tall trees; they formed a sort of canopy above his head, sheltering him from the rain. He recognized this place- it was the woods he more or less lived in as a child. His mother often took him for walks in these woods; it was where he first met the fairies and wood elves, where he learned how good it felt to be alone, where he would find solace in the troubling twists and turns in the valley of life. It was where he felt _safe._

And it was where the mounting thoughts and feelings spilled out. He could no longer ignore them; they attacked him with vigor.

He was _WRONG_. Sick, twisted, _wrong_. What he was feeling was an atrocity in and of itself. When did he ever allow these thoughts to pollute his mind? When did he have the power to stop them? He held his head in frustrated guilt. Alfred was his cousin. His family, flesh and blood! Slight touches could not-_should_ not- make him feel such heat course through his veins. Seeing Alfred hang out with other friends could not-_should_ not-fill him with such disgusting jealousy.

He had to stop talking to Alfred. He couldn't continue whatever this was; because he knew that if he kept it going, these feelings would continue as well; continue and _grow_. He was attached enough already; damage was already done. Besides, Alfred was a friendly-if not slightly annoying -prat. He wouldn't miss a grumpy frump like Arthur. Why would he, when he had so much more anyways? Good looks, charm, and-_gah_! _'Shut UP, Arthur!' _

Yet Arthur knew he never could leave the boy alone. He was just too attached, too disgustingly selfish. The pain in the thought alone took his breath away. And the fact that that pain was a sure testament to how Arthur was beginning to feel for Alfred made him hate himself even more.

He just couldn't deny it. He didn't want Alfred as a cousin. He wanted…was starting to want…His feelings were shifting to something Alfred would hopefully never reciprocate-because that would poison him, too, and Arthur couldn't stand the thought of that. His feelings were shifting to something Alfred could never discover-because then he would think Arthur was disgusting too, and he would hate him. And he would have every right to.

Yesterday when he had confronted "Alfred" it was because he wanted to pretend such feelings didn't exist. That Alfred was just _irritating_ him. But afterwards, when the guilt had him, he realized that had been a mistake. He couldn't blame Alfred; it wasn't Alfred's fault.

"He's my cousin." Arthur murmured the words out loud, hoping they could chase away that horrible growing monstrous wrong _crush. _Instead, the words flitted down to his pocket, poking at the crumpled paper burning up his leg. Under the protection of the trees, Arthur pulled out the family tree slowly.

Al of his life, he had been told that Emma, his mother, was Alice's sister. He was cousin to Madeline and Alfred Bonnefboy. No question about it.

This paper, this painstakingly neat hand drawn family tree begged to differ.

Arthur hardly dared to hope, hardly dared to dream; but the question could now breath the trickle of hope down his back, seeping deep into the crevices of his ever beating heart.

_"Is Alfred my cousin? If not…what does this mean?"_

In that instant, Arthur knew two things.

1. The paper in his hands held deep significance.

2. He would get to the bottom of this mystery no matter what. Even if it killed him.

**A/N How ironic. My make up chapter for a late chapter is…late. It's about midnight, and exactly 30 minutes into Friday. I'm a half hour late, but this chapter took a while to write. Sorry! I'll pump out another chapter tomorrow-er, today- or Saturday.**

**Notes: Emma is Belgium. Those 4 boys in the family tree are Scotland, Northern Ireland, Ireland, Wales. Arthur Is male England, Alice is Fem! England. I know Belgium didn't really raise Britain, but there is a reason I took this liberty, one that will be explained….and yes, Maddie, Liz, Feli, Ludwig, Alice, Mike, Roderich, Gilbert, Arthur, Alfred and even Frances….all these plots and characters run together. They all come together; eventually. It's not a bunch of different little plots that have nothing to do with each other:) All shall be revealed…soon. MAKE PREDICTIONS, MUAHAHA!**

**Also, A HUGE HUG TO ALL WHO HAVE FAVED AND OR FOLLOWED! YOU MAKE ME SO HAAAAPPPPPYYYY! Please review as well if you can, I would love to know what you all think! **

**Have a great day, thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The rain eventually spluttered and dwindled, reducing itself to a sulky drizzle. This was gladly welcomed by Madeline, whose idea of a decent work day did not include trying to plant and garden while trying to frantically blink out the rain that spluttered into her sensitive eyes. Her eye sight had never really been good in the first place; adding a blinding rain in the mix did not exactly help things.

However, by the time the rain stopped, so had the morning's reading lesson. To her slight surprise, Gilbert was learning quite quickly. He usually had about him a cocky, bored, up-to-no-good type attitude; if his willingness to goad people and get into fights (like when Alfred had nearly socked him in the jaw) were anything to go by. Yet when he was concentrating, Madeline got the honors of watching that Devil-may-care attitude…_disappear_.

He was still snarky, _that_ would never change; but his focus during the lesson was not of the hooligan he liked to appear like, but of the diligent young man people hardly got to see. Heck, passer bys on the street would probably take one look at him and steer clear away, frightened by the hooligan Lower with the dangerous glint in his freakish red eyes- and Gilbert would revel in that, smirking dangerously at their poorly hidden expressions of fright. But it was during these reading lessons that Madeline got to see a glimpse of the real man behind that smirk, and not the bravado the rest of the world was subjected to. The feelings she got from this were purely indescribable. She felt appreciated, trusted; very few people were awarded with this side of Gilbert, she was sure. No longer was she the lonely outside looking in. Her heart felt confused with this new sensation, but it soared nonetheless.

The two were so engrossed in the newspaper that they didn't even notice when the rain dwindled down to a drizzle for a long while. Quite honestly, the lesson would likely have gone on for hours if it hadn't been for one passing sentence in the newspaper that Madeline's eyes just happened to skim by.

" 'Agriculture is boosting the economy,' " Madeline read softly to herself. "Well that's good, eh? Wait a minute…Agriculture? Planting!" Nearly smacking her forehead, the girl got up to her feet reluctantly to get a better view of the world outside of the cozy albeit drafty gazebo. The ground outside the gazebo was decorated only by dirt as far as the eye could see; the sky above a brilliant cerulean, the rain clouds drifting away in shame. The sun beamed down tentatively amid the persistent drizzle, reclaiming its throne in the center of the summer sky.

"I think its noon time, Gilbert. Alice-that's my mother- is going to be wondering where I am, and we have to go to our family occupation straight after lunch." She tried to hide the forlorn feeling behind the words; she truly didn't want to leave. Still, duty calls. And a word from the wise: worrying a loud, nosy, impulsive older brother with an unshakable hero-complex was _not_ the safest idea.

"That is so un-awesome. I'm way more important than some soggy grass," whined Gilbert.

"I can always come back this evening, you know," she replied wistfully.

"Alright. But not for another lesson; we can save those for the mornings. Meet me here at the gazebo, same time as yesterday, and we can think of something to do. Something worthy of my awesome time!"

Madeline blushed slightly, touched and worried at the same time. He really wanted to spend some more time with her…outside the lessons? But she was so boring and invisible! If she wasn't giving him a reading lesson, what else could she possibly offer him? Oh, maple, he was going to regret this. He would regret ever asking her this. Oh, maple…

Still, she couldn't say no. "A-alright," she agreed. Gilbert noticed the slight nervousness in her tone.

"What?"

"Oh, it's n-nothing."

"Oh really? So what's with the stuttering? What, are you _scared_ of me?" He rolled his eyes, suddenly unable to look at her. After all this, and she was still scared? And here he had thought she understood him a bit more than that. True, Gilbert wasn't someone you wanted to mess with, unless you _wanted_ to end up in the hospitable; but he wouldn't lay a finger on Madeline. Her fear only served to prove a dark thought right: even in this relationship-whatever it was-his station, his red eyes, and his cockiness were the most obvious to her. He really shouldn't have expected anything else; and that was awesome, right? Nothing wrong with being feared, right? Having someone fear you gave you the upper hand. It gave control, it gave you _power_. Gilbert didn't have any qualms about those glorious things. So why did it bother him so much now?

(Do you think it was perhaps because friendships couldn't run on control and power, dear reader? I think so. I wonder if that's what Gilbert was realizing.)

Madeline, not that used to social interactions outside her family, didn't dare voice her concerns, instead continuing to fuss internally. "No," she said too quickly. His eyes darkened. "Well, not you," she couldn't help saying.

"Well then, what? Spit it out. I don't have all day. Being passive aggressive is un-awesome. Say how you feel and then run off to mommy, little girl," he snapped.

Madeline couldn't help it-her stomach dropped. He was getting irked and probably sick of her already! But what could she do? Admit how she felt? For so long, no one had really cared as to what her deeper feelings and emotions were. She was just too invisible to get that close to anyone, and so had a bad tendency to keep her thoughts to herself, often bottling things up (and then exploding, like she finally had at her brother the night previous). She wasn't too sure that now was a good time to change that; she wasn't sure if she _could._ Of course, if there was anyone-besides her beloved Papa, of course- that she had even a _hope_ of opening up to before she exploded, it was Gilbert. Gilbert, who she almost always felt so comfortable with for whatever reason. Still, it was a hard and quite frankly frightening idea. It was easier just to ignore how she felt and stew over it in her spare time, as usual. Why did Gilbert even care to find out so much, anyways?

When she said nothing, it only confirmed Gilbert's dark thoughts. So this wasn't going to be any different from the people he usually met, wasn't it? But if she was scared, if she really was scared of Lowers after all, why did she bother with him? She had seemed so different yesterday, fending off her brother, offering him the chance to become literate….seeming so concerned and saddened over his baby brother…aha! That was _it!_

'So this _is_ just pity, after all!" He hissed. "I should never have thought otherwise. I don't need your disgusting pity. Go on, fear me, think of me like any other mangy Lower. I don't care anymore! Screw these reading lessons. I'm done." With that, he shoved past her and stormed off, his pride a broken mess of shattered glass at his feet. _'It doesn't matter. Clustering is for the weak minded. I don't need people. I am too awesome for that!'_ Yet his frantic thoughts did nothing to ease the pain in his heart, and he wasn't completely sure if he really agreed with them.

Madeline couldn't process the drastic turn of events until he was gone. Out of sight, and out of reach.

The closest thing she had ever had to friendship. Gone. Out of sight. Out of reach. Shattered.

She couldn't breathe; the sudden pain and frustration stole her breath away. The one thing she had ever wanted in life had been waved in front of her face and then snatched away _twice_. The acceptance and acknowledgment she had received from her Papa had been plunged with the same knife that had pierced his heart and snuffed out his life. And now again with Gilbert; he had seen her, talked to her, seemed to appreciate her…and now he _hated_ her, no doubt. She would never get the chance to assure him she wasn't afraid of him or pitying him. He wouldn't care at this point. He was _gone._

_'Just like Papa.' _

It hit her then, how awful it felt to be so close to someone and then to lose them. It felt like a piece of her heart was glued pathetically to the few that knew or cared as to who she was, and when they left, the piece went with them, leaving the remains of her heart to bleed out. This had happened with her again and again and would probably happen _again_.

What was _wrong_ with her?

A fit of turbulent emotions abruptly gripped her arm, causing her to grab the abandoned newspaper and furiously wrench it into the very dirt she wanted to crawl in. It didn't matter anymore, anyways. The paper could be eaten by the rain and the wind; that wouldn't make Gilbert come back.

Just before the traitorous tears came, Madeline began to run. Ran away from the gazebo, ran away from the red eyes and white hair and obnoxious yet comforting laughter that she would never see again. She ran away from her last hope of companionship. She couldn't curl up and cry; she didn't deserve that emotional release. Instead, she would do at least _one_ thing right; her invisible life. She would go home. She would act normal so that Alice and Alfred would not worry. She would go to her occupation and plant the roses the Landlord's wife had been wanting. Then she would curl up in her bed at night and sleep. There was nothing else to do.

She felt like throwing up.

* * *

Elizabeta had never been so grateful for hay stacks in all her young life. Stretching out her arms with a yawn, she plopped herself down into the scratchy hay, too grateful for the rest to feel the burning itch. The hay was spoiling stuff that was no longer so good for the horses to eat; and because Elizabeta had been on her feet all morning running after a few horses that had run off on her as she led them to the pasture, freaked out by some fluke notices, you better believe that that spoiled hay would make a good make shift bed before she hauled it out to be eaten and composted by mother nature.

Just as she had gotten comfortable, a shrill voice swiped the calming quiet of the stables in half, nudging the horses and provoking them to whine pityingly.

"Hello, Miss Lizzie!" A cheerful voice crowed. 'And hello to you too, horsies!"

Elizabeta grinned tiredly and shot up promptly, embarrassed. The one time she tried to rest on the job, and she got caught! "Hello, Feli!"

Feliciano then came into view, poking his head into the stables. "Can I come in? I brought someone!" Elizabeta chuckled good naturally, stroking the neck of the closest horse affectionately.

"These stables belong to the Varges family, Feli. Of course you can come in! Who did you-oh!" She froze in surprise. "Hello again to you, sir!" Behind Feliciano came the well dressed Roderich Edelstein, whose eyes brightened upon recognizing the pretty hard working stable keeper from last night.

"Hello again," he greeted her. "Good morning."

"You know each other?" Feliciano asked curiously, as he hurried over to Elizabeta's side to stroke the beautiful horse as well. The mare neighed in appreciation, swinging her graceful head in Roderich's direction.

"I came by the stables yesterday and met her then," Roderich explained.

"Did you see all the horses? I think there are some barn cats nearby as well. Elizabeta, did you see any kitties?"

Elizabeta shook her head at the Italian. "No, not here. Sorry Feli! But make yourselves at home here! These horses love the company!" _'As do I,'_ she thought. An introvert at heart, Elizabeta still liked small groups of people around as company.

"How long are you staying at our estate for, Roderich?" Asked Feliciano off handedly as he flopped down carelessly into the decomposing hay stacks.

"A few weeks, I believe. The Varges family and the Edelsteins have a mutual friend, so we're staying here to get to know each other," he explained. "I think we're conducting business, but alas; no one tells me anything." Tentatively, Roderich began stroking the mare as well. He was standing so close to Elizabeta that she could feel the heat from his skin. Abruptly, she felt like a thousand bolts of electricity were shooting through hr limbs; but she did not move. The sensation burned, but it didn't scar her. Instead, it left her wanting more of that delicious electrical surge.

"Who is this mutual friend, if you don't mind my asking?" She asked rather breathlessly.

"The Kirklands, I believe." The mare butted his hand, and a small smile graced his face. "What's the name of this horse?"

"Fern. She loves the attention," Elizabeta remarked with a smile.

"How old is she?" Feliciano asked from his make shift hay bed. "Were did she come from?"

For Elizabeta, the next few hours were spent with these two very different young men. Small chat ensued between Elizabeta and Roderich once Feliciano dozed off; but let us be frank, dear readers. Small talk is not simply idle chit chat; but a delicate dance of first impressions.

For Elizabeta, the quiet chatter was not made up primarily of how old Roderich was (he was her age, 17), what his hobbies were (music and baking, which Elizabeta found very interseting) or his plans in life (pursuing music, if he could); but of the grace of his features, that cute strand of hair that always stood up, and the lively gleam in his eyes when he spoke passionately about the expression found in music. It was discovering he was polite and well mannered and treated her respectfully. It was finding that he spoke of interesting things; things she could hear him talk about forever. It was forgetting that he was Elite and she was Average; perhaps most of all, it was becoming so fascinated with the conversation that she tried hard to commit it to memory.

For Roderich, the quiet chatter was not made primarily of what Elizabeta's age (17, just like himself), or what she did in her free time (work on things that had to be done, chase after the horses, and sing scary songs, which Roderich found very interesting) or even what her plans were in life (she wasn't quite sure yet); but of the beautiful waves of her long hair, the strength in which she carried herself, and those bright green eyes that spoke volumes. It was finding that she acted both tomboyish and ladylike at the same time, and that her lively attitude made him feel more energized than he had in a while. It was finding that he enjoyed what she spoke of and the adventures she recalled far more then of the polite small simple stories he got from most girls. It was forgetting her class in life and trying hard to commit this conversation to memory.

By the end of it, they were calling each other comfortably by their first names; no more "Miss" and "Mr".

Formalities, shmalities.

**A/N: 12:30AM Sunday morning. I am wiped. I'm sorry, this chapter sucks, but I hope you like it! I'm too tired to write a huge note, buuuut:**

**THANKS TO ALL WHO HAVE READ REVIEWED AND FAVED AND/OR FOLLOWED! *Cue confetti, pancakes, and loud happy music played by Austria*. **

**Ramengrl: Thank you! YOU ARE SO AWESOME!**

**Monica Honda: :') Thank you so much! And no pressure, but I would love to hear any predictions! No idea is wrong! And it just might give me some even better ideas! **

**Have a great day, dear readers!**


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